Silent Fire, Screaming Rage
by xxSpade's Ace
Summary: Silent Hill crossover. Hotstreak is sent to prison, oh my! But his cell mate proves to be insane. What he does causes Hotstreak to go back to his hometown...Silent Hill. A few others are dragged along with him back to hell. Reviews make me happy. Updated!
1. Let's Go To Prison!

Hehe, I'm back. I decided not to do anything with Afterwards because nobody suggested a plot or anything. The offer to continue it, however, still stands. I just moved on XD But umm...this little thing came about because my best friend came back from one of her friend's house ranting and raving about a little beauty called **SILENT HILL 4.** Now, I've played Silent Hill 2 and I absolutely adore it, and I looked up a whole bunch of Silent Hill 4 videos on YouTube.  
Good lord.  
You have absolutely no idea how much I wanna play it now! It's scary, and then my little passion for SH was rekindled enough that it gave me inspiration for a fic. And now, here we are, looking at my little...fic. The tone is completely different from Afterwards, in case you can't tell as you read on ;)

PS.  
**Disclaimers apply. I wish I owned them, but I do not. ::sigh::**

* * *

After a disastrous attempt at a bank robbery (oh _God_ was it disastrous), leaden bracelets to stop Hotstreak's powers had been slammed onto his wrists securely. The same could be said for the others of the meta breed—Ebon had similar bracelets that stopped his shadow powers, Shiv's hands were covered by some unbreakable material constantly and handcuffed, and Kangor's feet were strapped together by the same material. 

It wasn't disastrous because of what happened to the meta breed; it was disastrous because of the damage that had ensued in the battle, Sparky and Brain Boy versus the meta breed. That whole part of Dakota City was pretty damn torn up. What resulted was the meta breed was split up and sent to _normal_ prisons.

Hotstreak couldn't say how the others were doing, but he felt that his situation could be a whole lot worse.

Marcus, for example, could've made him his bitch.

Marcus Corrigan was one _brawny_ mother. At his six-five height, he towered over Hotstreak's five-ten. Black little beady eyes sunk into a low, sloping face on a head that seemed too small for his body. Iron-hard arms as big as Hotstreak's thigh hung down from broad shoulders, and the orange jumpsuit covered the rest. He had laid his eyes on Hotstreak and smirked the moment the redhead had sauntered in the cell and flopped down on the cot.

* * *

_Flashback, April 11, 11:56 AM  
Prison_

"_You my new cell mate, then." Marcus had grinned._

"_Guess so." Hotstreak had shrugged, hoping to God his uneasiness wasn't showing through at all. _God, he's huge, _he remembered thinking to himself nervously. He normally wasn't afraid of anybody, but this was _prison_, and he didn't have what he so desperately needed: his powers._

"_You that bang baby? Hotstreak?"  
_

"_Yup."_

"_Those bracelets stop you from using your powers?"_

_Hotstreak hesitated a moment before answering. "I guess so."_

"_Ain't that a shame. Feel sorry for ya." Marcus said, not sounding sorry in the least. He opened his mouth to say something else, but thankfully, the lunch bell rang. The doors started opening, and Hotstreak walked out quickly. Marcus smirked after him, walking along at a leisurely pace. Ain't _nobody_ fucked with Marcus Corrigan._

_- -_

_Hotstreak stared down at the slop the lunch man threw down on his tray. "I've seen better at the Metahuman Containment Center." he said in disgust as he started to walk away to an empty table._

"_Thas gotta be true, man. Life in dis prison's a _mad_ bitch." somebody said. Hotstreak immediately knew the guy would be black from the way he could talk in Ebonics without sounding like an idiot._

_The man he saw when he turned around was indeed black and fairly tall—maybe six foot even, give or take a little. He was on the skinny side but had that ropey string of muscle going through his arms that males from poor, hard-working families always seem to have. His body was far more proportional to itself than Marcus's, and Hotstreak decided he liked the way his light brown eyes were free of any malicious glint with bad intent. They seemed rather friendly—too much so for a place like this. Hotstreak wondered what he had done to get in said place._

"_I guess so. Can you even eat this?" he replied, motioning towards the crap that passed for semi-edible food with his head._

"_Well, ain't no one died of tha grub here yet, dawg. So I guess it's a'ight. Yo name Hotstreak?"_

"_Yeah." Hotstreak nodded. He was undoubtedly pleased with the fact he was so notorious people who had been locked up for Christ knew how long knew of him. It showed through in his tone with that single word and made the black man laugh. On further speculation, Hotstreak decided he was in his early twenties—around twenty-two._

"_Er'body heard of tha meta breed and its infamous firestarter. Name's Jamal. Only otha decent guy I know thas in here be ma cellie. He's James. You mighta seen him. Puerto Rican, kinda long black hair, always nervous, about twenty. He's a little shorter than you." Jamal said. Hotstreak thought a moment. He had taken care to look at everybody he came across in the prison so far, and Jamal's description rang a quiet bell._

"_I think I might've." he said slowly, unsurely._

"_You see him in a few minutes, anyway. He up at tha showers helpin' to clean up some blood from a fight there." Jamal said. The sentence hung in the air awkwardly as Hotstreak digested this information—blood? Fight? _Showers??

"_I know watchoo thinkin!" Jamal began laughing hysterically as he set down his own tray of food at a table. "Yeah, dude, I dropped tha soap and it hit somebody in tha face! They thought someone else did it an' started poundin' on him. Pretty damn funny when you consider what the other option coulda been."_

"_Oh yeah." Hotstreak said sourly. "My cell mate doesn't seem too picky."_

"_Aw, man, thas a bitch, no pun intended." Jamal snickered. He grinned at the irate glare Hotstreak sent him. "Who's ya cellie?"_

"_I forgot his name. Really big guy, though. Half-white half-black, looks like. Brawny, broad-shouldered, six-foot-five, maybe?"_

"_Aw, MAN! He got these lil piggy eyes?!"_

"_Yeah…" Hotstreak didn't like Jamal's reaction to his description._

"Shit_, Hotstreak, thas Marcus Corrigan. Been in here fo' longer than I have, I think he's been in fo' about six or seven years, now. He twenty-seven, and if you don't mind me sayin, he goan find you hott."_

"_Dammit, I was afraid of that!" Hotstreak groaned._

"_Jamal!"_

_The two turned towards the voice that had called. "Thas James." Jamal said as the Puerto Rican hurried towards them. When he saw Hotstreak, he stopped, looked him over nervously for a second, and resumed coming over to the table at a much slower pace. "James, this is Hotstreak. He Marcus's cell mate."_

"_Jesus, Hotstreak, that sucks." James said sympathetically with wide eyes. Hotstreak merely grumbled his reply._

_The three began talking about other things—what they did to get there, the Girls They Left Behind (in Jamal and James's cases), what they used to do, how long they were in, and what they were going to do once they got out. Jamal had only another year and a month left; James had a year exactly that day._

"_We goan meet each otha again and hang out once I get outta here. I might get out earlier on good behavior." Jamal said._

"_I hope Marie's still waitin' for me when I get out." James said moodily, frowning down at his slop._

"_She sound like a good girl, James. I think she still waitin."_

_Hotstreak and the other two became fast friends after that one lunch._

_- -_

_It was light's out. Marcus leered at Hotstreak who glared right back. "Yo, man. You don't wanna piss me off and make it worse for yourself, hear me?"_

"_Go to hell, Marcus." Hotstreak snarled, and found himself pinned against the wall. He brought his knee up straight into Marcus's crotch on reaction. When the man yelled hoarsely and doubled over, clutching his already-swelling appendage, Hotstreak brought his foot up and kicked him in the face. _Thank God for street fighting,_ he thought to himself. Marcus was already back on his knees. Hotstreak kicked him over again, jumped on his back, grabbed his wrist, and pulled it up between his shoulder blades. He pushed down on the elbow and felt something crack. Marcus gave a rusty scream in reply. Other inmates were beginning to cheer and hoot them on, alerting the guards in a way the commotion Hotstreak and Marcus had started hadn't._

"_Give up, Marcus?!" Hotstreak yelled._

"_Get offa me, you dickhead! Get offa me! _Aaaarhhh!"

"_Yeah, Hotstreak!" a Caucasian man Hotstreak met earlier named Billy cheered encouragingly. He had been a boxing instructor before getting drunk and running somebody over. Thankfully they had lived, but he still had a year or so. "Don't let him get back up!!"_

_Marcus bucked under Hotstreak, damn near throwing him off. He put more pressure down on the elbow and both heard and felt the resulting _crrrack!_ as Marcus's arm snapped. He lifted his head up and screamed, shaking it madly from side to side in a grim negation that _this wasn't happening

"For God's sake get the fuck offa me oh my god that hurts I give I give I give up!!" _he was screaming. Four guards rammed open the prison door and yanked Hotstreak off Marcus roughly. "You son of a bitch, I'll fucking kill you, I'll fuck you til your goddamn ass breaks oh my goood my fucking ARM!!"_

"_Shut it, Marcus!" one Hotstreak knew as Sam yelled. "Somebody get a damn paramedic in here!"_

_And that was how Hotstreak earned himself a reputation as one not to be fucked with in prison._

_Every night he thanked God for the little thing called the element of surprise. _

_

* * *

Present day, May 14, 12:08 PM  
Prison Cafeteria_

"Hotstreak, you're gettin' a new cell mate today." James informed as the three sat down. They didn't miss the look on his face.

"Well isn't this fucking great." he deadpanned.

"Hey, I don't think anyone's gonna be botherin' you after what you did to Marcus." James said. "And the guards—"

"They wouldn't do anything if he _did_ try anything." Hotstreak scowled. "That's what pisses me off most. And they put those damn lead bracelets on me so I can't use my powers!"

"I…I think I heard them talkin' about handcuffin' you to your cot, too." James said awkwardly. Hotstreak just plain out stared at him, unable to say anything except an unintelligent "You're kidding me."

"Wish he was, bro. I heard 'em too. After that fight you got in with Marcus." Jamal snickered.

"That wasn't my fault! I'm _nobody's_ fuckin _bitch_!" Hotstreak snarled, slamming a clenched fist down on the table for emphasis and anger. Jamal held up his hands palm-out in a sympathetic gesture with raised eyebrows.

"These guys don't like bang babies. Moment I saw yo' ass walk in here, I knew you wasn't gonna be too happy here."

"Wasn't at the other places, either." the metahuman pointed out.

"Naw, dawg, I mean _especially_ here. You the only baby in here and every guard and shit don't like you." Jamal said.

"I know that, Jamal. It doesn't help I was with the Meta Breed."

"Not really. I'd be more worried about your new cellie though, Hotstreak. I think it's Alex Sanchez, and that guy should be in the fuckin' loony bin." James sighed. His eyes darted nervously around again. Hotstreak vaguely wondered why the Puerto Rican was always doing that.

"Thas true. I'd watch out for Sanchez, Hotstreak. He's a fuckin' basket case. I don't think he'd try to make you his bitch or nothin', bein the scrawny shit he is and seein' how you so pumped up, but I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to jump you in yo' sleep or somethin'. Maybe kill you." Jamal warned. Hotstreak just looked at him, unperturbed.

"I think I could take him. I'm younger and stronger than him. He's goin' on forty anyways, isn't he?"

"He looks that way." James said in a rather odd tone. Hotstreak and Jamal looked at him in confusion.

"Wussat mean, James?" Jamal asked curiously.

"He's…ay…goin' on thirty, I think." he responded uncomfortably.

"_Shit."_ Hotstreak said in obvious awe. "Why the hell does he look so _old_? I've heard of premature aging, but…"

"He crazy, dawg. He crazy fo' a reason. 'M guessin that he agin' like dat cuz of dat reason, whatever it is." Jamal shook his head.

"He talks about his hometown in his sleep. I think somethin' happened there." James shrugged.

"It doesn't matter to me. Just as long as he doesn't start anything, I don't care." Hotstreak said gruffly. Jamal opened his mouth to reply, but the bell to signal it was time back to the cells rang abruptly. James jumped visibly and looked around again.

"Easy, bro, 's just the bell." Jamal said, punching his shoulder playfully. James swallowed and nodded.

"Ay…yeah. Sorry."

"Why're you so jumpy, anyways?" Hotstreak asked as he stood up. James wrung his hands and cracked his knuckles.

"I, ah, little crazy myself, kinda, but nothin like Sanchez, man. The place I grew up in, downtown Gotham, wasn't the best." he explained.

"I can understand that." Hotstreak said. There was a wry smile on his face that made Jamal and James look at each other.

"A'ight, Hotstreak, we gotta bounce. East end." Jamal scowled.

"Yeah. See you two later. Oh, and Jamal? Make sure you don't let anyone else use James for a bitch, huh?" Hotstreak teased.

"_What?!"_

Hotstreak was already walking away, laughing at the two men's incredulous expressions.

* * *

_9:52 PM  
West End, Hotstreak's General Area_

"Hotstreak, man, you got a worse cellie now." an attempted-burglar nick-named Snake Eyes leered. "You shoulda just been Marcus's bitch. Woulda gone down a lot easier that way."

"Bullshit." Hotstreak scoffed. "Whoever the hell is my new cell mate can't be any worse than Marcus."

"Alex is kinda crazy, Hotstreak. When I say kinda, I mean _a lot._" Billy, the boxing instructor, sighed.

"What's he gonna do, eat my kidneys while I sleep?"

"I personally wouldn't be too surprised." some new white kid said. He had just come in earlier that day, and lucky for him he was Billy's cell mate. His white-blonde hair was freshly shaven. "First time I saw him he was rocking back and forth on his bed muttering something about a Siamese twin."

"That's nothin. He tried to beat his fuckin fingers off with a rock or something he found outside when we were playin' basket ball!" Snake Eyes informed.

"Jesus _Christ._" the newbie said with understandably wide eyes.

"Yeah, he's a psycho, alright. I think he _will_ eat your kidneys while you sleep, Hotstreak." Billy said with a nervous chuckle.

"Hah. He can try it. I've seen Alex, he doesn't look tough." Hotstreak snorted.

"Have you ever fought a madman's strength, though?" Billy asked seriously. Hotstreak contemplated this for a moment.

"Kinda. Maybe not to Alex's level, but yeah."

"Not take crazies lightly, man. They eat you living." some Mexican junkie shuddered in his broken English.

"Alright, y'all shut up in here! Almost time for lights out!" a Southern guard barked. "Hotstreak, your cell mate's comin!"

"Have fun getting eaten in your sleep, Hotstreak." Snake Eyes sneered as he retreated back to his cot. Two guards walked down the middle of the hall with another prisoner clad in the customary orange jumpsuit between them, though there were spots on it caked with dried blood. There were a few tatters and tears here and there from which dark brown-red scabs showed through. The inmate twitched at random times and muttered to himself continually. Quickly-receding hair appeared to have once been a deep brown, but it was mostly gray now. His rapidly twitching eyes were a muddled blue that rolled in their sockets as he moaned gutturally.

_What the hell?!_

Hotstreak watched the guards and Alex approach with a raised eyebrow. "Crazy…fuckin crazy…" some other convict Hotstreak hadn't bothered to learn the name of was murmuring sympathetically.

"Alright, Sanchez, this here's your new cell mate. Hotstreak the bang baby." the Southern one said with unmistakably sadistic glee.

"_Hoograh!"_

"Yeah, he might try somethin on you, I don't know, or you might try somethin on him. Afta' all, we gotta handcuff that baby to the bed. Bang baby, bang bitch, what's the difference?" He threw his head back and yodeled a laugh that made Hotstreak want to stab something in his ears to avoid hearing it ever again. Alex screamed something garbled and inarticulate and lurched at the guard; the way he lurched was half a leap. The southerner gave a revolted cry of disgust and pushed Alex into the wall. Alex continued screaming whatever he was screaming. Hotstreak thought he could pick out a few words

_(daughter daughter daughter son wife daughter son son son)_

but the other guard, who had so far remained silent, smacked Alex across the mouth open-handed. Alex stopped screaming and hissed piercingly at him. It vaguely sounded like a cat.

"Jesus, Hotstreak, he _will_ eat yer kidneys in yer sleep!" somebody cawed, although it was nervously. Anxious chuckles chimed here and there, too high-pitched to sound normal. It told Hotstreak that these men, these murderers-rapists-thieves-beaters-extortionists-whatever, these _dangerous criminals_, were afraid of one scrawny, prematurely aging, possibly-psychotic (possibly? hah!) man. Even Snake Eyes, in all his five-foot-six, 130-pound glory, would've been able to snap Alex in half if given the chance.

_They know something._

Alex Sanchez hissed again.

"Damn psycho," the guard who hit him mumbled in surprise. "Hal, you wanna hold Sanchez while I handcuff Hotstreak, or you want me to hold him?" Hal, the southern guard, looked back and forth between the obviously crazy man and the obviously dangerous teen.

"Well, uh, well there, George, I—"

"Just don't know, isn't that right?" George sneered. "Hold Sanchez, you pussy-ass."

"Right." Hal grumbled as he took hold of Sanchez's upper right arm firmly. Pussy-ass he was, physically weak he was not.

"Why the hell am I being handcuffed?!" Hotstreak demanded furiously as his left hand was held down by a pair. The other end was attached to the leg of the cot.

"If I had a choice, I wouldn't be." George said. He surprised Hotstreak with his regretful, gentle tone of voice. "The warden's idea. Son was killed by an accident involving bang babies."

"Luke, or somethin?" Hotstreak's eyes widened as he remembered something Ferret had once told the gang one of the few times he had been hanging out with them.

"_I can't face my dad now…he's a prison warden…what would he think?"_

"_He's your father…he's got to love you…"_

"_I wish, Talon…I wanna go home…he thinks I was killed by bang babies now…"_

"How do you know?" George asked sharply.

"He's not dead. If we're even thinking of the same person. I think you're talking about Ferret."

"…I think that could be. They do look alike…but…"

"Why don't you just go check it out?" Hotstreak scowled irritably. George finished handcuffing his right hand down and looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"Maybe I will, Hotstreak…maybe I will." he said slowly. "Alright, Hal, he's down. Bring him on in."

"_Caaaaaaaaall—"_

"Shut up, Sanchez!" Hal bellowed. "JEE-sus CHRIST al-MIGHTY!" Hotstreak couldn't help but snicker at Hal's frustration. It pleased him to no end to see The Hated Hal in such a state. "Get that smirk offa yer face, convict!"

"Make me!" he retorted immediately.

"Why, I outta—!"

"Get ahold of yourself, Hal." George scolded with a glare. Hal clenched his teeth and threw Alex into the cell.

"Time for some goddamn donuts." he muttered irately as he stalked down the hall, glaring at the inmates who hooted and laughed at him. Hal was hated; George was slightly liked.

George walked out, slammed the door shut, locked it, and walked away after Hal. Alex watched them go. Twitching.

"So, Sanchez, you gonna eat your new cell mate? Or are ya gonna bash his fingers off with a rock?" Snake Eyes giggled maliciously. Alex's head jerked—his way of turning—to just stare at him. Snake Eyes stared back until he became too unsettled under that empty blue gaze. "Jesus, Alex." he mumbled.

"Hey Hotstreak, what's your real name?" Billy asked suddenly in an effort to turn to a pleasant conversation. Hotstreak snorted.

"I hate my real name! I'm not gonna tell—"

Alex had turned to see who was speaking and started screaming again immediately, throwing himself against the cell door and pointing at Hotstreak. The bang baby jumped visibly and backed up as far as he could.

"What in the hell, Alex?!"

"_EEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"_

"What the fuck, man, shut up!"  
"What the hell'd you do, Hotstreak?!"  
"Shut him the hell up!"  
"What's happening?!"

"What's going on?!" George bellowed as he and five others came tearing down the hall again to see what was up to cause a scream like that. They saw Alex against the bars, Hotstreak against the wall.

It took fifteen minutes just for the six burly guards to wrestle Alex out of the cell. Two more had to come just to sedate him. After it was over (half an hour later), George came back to stand in front of Hotstreak's cell, scratches and red marks and one or two bruises on his face and arms.

"What did you tell or do to him." he intoned. It wasn't a question.

"Fuckin nothin! I didn't even talk to him! He turned around and looked at me and started actin like I was the fuckin anti-Christ!" Hotstreak wanted it to come out acidly or coldly or something along those lines, but he was too surprised at Alex's reaction to merely seeing him to do anything of the sort. George stood there and looked at him for maybe thirty seconds before he sighed.

"You be careful what you say and do to him, Hotstreak. Be nice and calm. I know what a damn hassle that can be for you, but I don't think the other option is too pretty." he warned. Hotstreak wordlessly watched him walk away.

* * *

It becomes more like Silent Hill in the next chapter...the scene that inspired me to write this whole thing will be in there. It's gruesome. And very pretty.  
Reviews are much appreciated, lovelies! 


	2. Inside Alex Sanchez's Mind

I'm soooo sorry that took me so long to get up! Blame my parents—they suck. Ah, the common laments of a "dysfunctional" teenage mind. But in any case, here's chapter two. I hope you all enjoy it; I know I did. I _love _writing a certain sort of scene, like the one towards the end!

Enjoy!

* * *

Alex stared up at the ceiling, barely able to hear Hotstreak's even breathing as he slept. There were the muffled sounds of a sexual assault—probably on Snake Eyes, from the sound of it—that let Alex know all those around that could see clearly were busy. He had been returned to his cell a little after he had been sedated with ten milligrams of Valium, and was now able to think semi-clearly through the sluggish fog of the tranquilizer. The sharp terror that had descended on his mind when he had first seen Hotstreak had been pushed away; now, he would think on his next course of action. 

His gaze slipped to Hotstreak. The teen was sleeping peacefully from what Alex could tell; he had been that way before Alex was taken back into the cell. _Probably why he's so peaceful now…but he looks like his brother…father…back in Silent Hill…_

Alex started giving husky little whimpering sounds as what remained of his so-called sanity was blown away. Hotstreak moaned softly in his sleep at the noise and tossed his head. Alex's breathing whooshed out of his thin chest faster and faster until he was hyperventilating, eyes starting from their sockets, shaking madly, twitching horribly. His teeth began chattering and he peeled his lips back over his mouth and screeched.

Hotstreak's jade orbs flew open as he sat up bolt-right at the sound. He heard the others nearby doing something to someone, and heard Alex still shrieking and staring at him with those intensely bulging eyes of his. He gave a startled cry at the sight and watched Alex cautiously. He hadn't missed how six guards had to wrestle Alex out of the cell.

"What the hell did I do?!" he yelled at him.

"You were born there you were born there born there there there there born there crazy crazy you're crazy I'm not crazy I'm normal MY WIFE DAUGHTER SON DAUGHTER DAUGHTER SON WIFE WIFE SON SON SON DEAD—"

"Sanchez, shut the hell up! Nobody gives a damn about your dead family!" somebody roared from down the hall.

"DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD SON WIFE DAUGHTER DEAD DAUGHTER YOU YOU YOU"

"What did I do?! What the hell does where I was born have to do with you, and how the hell do you know?!" Hotstreak shouted, partially to make himself heard, partially because…well, just because.

"Alex Sanchez, god _dammit_!" Hal cried. They came running up the hall to see him twitching towards an obviously alarmed, maybe even slightly scared, Hotstreak. With a gargling scream, Alex jumped towards him. Hotstreak yelped and kicked out at him; his foot connected with Alex's stomach. All the wind rushed out of him, but the not the fight. He screamed from his place on the floor and lurched to his feet and fell on top of Hotstreak.

"YOU YOU YOU YOU KNOW YOU KNOW EVERYTHING FORGOT TO REMEMBER—"

"_Get off me!!" _Hotstreak screamed. He jerked his arms as hard as he could in a half-conscious attempt to get his arms free to protect himself against the madman. Alex's hands wrapped around his throat, lips still peeled over his teeth and that unearthly shriek still emitting from his throat.

"_Why don't you go back why don't you go back go back go back back back—"_

"ALEX!" George bellowed as he grabbed the back collar of the jumpsuit and yanked him back and (oh so thankfully) off Hotstreak.

"I'm not crazy I'm not crazy I'm the only sane one around here all of you are insane you know nothing nothing nothing at all you fools _it will kill you if you trust the church your faith will eat you alivvvveeee—"_

"Hal, get Larry in here, we need to sedate him!!" George called before Alex threw him off and crashed against the wall. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them and began rocking himself. His words became unintelligible. He now offered no resistance as George, Hal, and Larry dragged him away.

Only Hotstreak saw his eyes begin to bleed.

* * *

_  
Alex  
Solitary Confinement_

HOTSTREAK. Why does that single word whip my mind so? It's like a horsewhip, or a bullwhip, or just a whip that whips me endlessly like all whips do like a master and a slave when the slave messes up slave work and the master is forced to do master work but the master doesn't mind whipping the slave and the whip just keeps whipping like that _one single word_ does to my mind!

I am not a slave.

I am NOT a SLAVE!!

Foolish heathen, he is but an idle pawn in the chess game they play with me. I will not lose. I will not win. I will not tie with them. I refuse to play. I refuse to play. THEY CANNOT MAKE ME PLAY. _He_ cannot make me play.

I know he wants to by the look in those emerald jade green oceangreen forestgreen polishedjade celadon IN THOSE GREEN EYES OF HIS. Those guards don't like him because he is what they call a...a metahuman? Yes, a metahuman. Incompetent. They know nothing. Nothing at all. What can they possibly know? Nothing. Nothing about it. Nothing at all. Nothing. Nothing. Nothingnothingnothingnothingnothing.

They call me _mad_, they say I am _MAD_, they say I am UNWELL. But what, exactly, makes a person UNWELL? It intrigues me how there are so many...so many ways to say UNWELL. Such stupid phrases.

Lost your marbles two fries short of a happy meal bats in the belfry crazy insane psycho couple loose screws abnormal not a normal train of thought not like you and me but who IS like you and me you and me are totally two different people you and me are always totally two different people you and me and him and her and them are so different from each other

fingers fingers these fingers they've touched dirty things nasty things things that aren't supposed to be touched I don't want them anymore I want them to go away but no one will make them go away I wanted to get rid of them myself they don't understand I want them away

I can still see the blood on my hands.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

* * *

_May 22, 5:55 PM  
Outside Solitary Confinement _

The prison psychologist observed Alex for a few minutes longer before deeming him safe enough to go and check on his eyes. Hal had noticed the blood running down his cheeks and dripping off his jaw line when Alex's face touched the side of his shirt.

"Any idea what caused it?" George asked gruffly. The doctor, Simmons, gazed at the unconscious man lying on the cot for a moment before shaking his head.

"I'd have to take him to the hospital to run tests. And put him in the psyche ward." he said.

"Psyche ward?" George raised an eyebrow.

"He's obviously insane. You'd have to be a blind, deaf, and dumb downright _fool _to not see that. Where's this poor guy from, anyways?" Simmons questioned as he checked Alex's pulse.

"Not a clue." Hal shook his head.

"Silent Hill."

Simmons looked at George with an awkward smile.

"Now, I'm sure you're just having me on, George. Silent Hill has been a ghost town for…eight, nine years?" he said. "Now, I can take a joke just as well as the next guy,"—he gave them a patronizing smile to show them just how well he could—"but I think this is no joking matter."

"I'm serious, Simmons!" George pressed on. "It's not a ghost town so much as a town that never talks to the outside world. There _are_ people there. They just…never leave. People never go there, either, and if they do, they sure don't come out."

"Then what's Sanchez doin' here?" Hal asked in confusion. George and Simmons gave him a sideways glance simultaneously that _clearly_ screamed "Shut up, you honky-tonk idiot."

"Why doesn't anybody go there?" Simmons turned back to George to ask. The prison guard merely shrugged in reply.

"No idea. Never been there myself. I wouldn't bring my wife and kids there, either."

Alex's eyes flickered at this, but none noticed.

"Hey, you two, I asked what Sanchez was doin' here!" Hal spoke up loudly. George sighed.

"Didn't you hear him before? His wife and kids? He killed them, Hal. Their blood was all over his hands."

Alex gave a violent twitch on the cot.

"So why's he in Dakota City?" Hal asked pointedly.

"He was in Gotham when somebody called him in. He was running down the street screaming like a madman at the top of his lungs covered in blood, and—he's awake." George said in a slightly startled tone. Indeed, Alex's eyes were huge as he watched them closely. "Er…easy there, Alex. Why don't you just go on back to sleep?"

Something clicked in Alex's brain. "Shower. Give me a shower." he commanded. George and Hal looked at the doctor.

"Well, it might do him some good." Simmons said uncomfortably. "But by himself."

"Don't worry about that, Simmons. None of the inmates go near this guy…even Marcus Corrigan didn't." George said.

"He shouldn't have gone near that damn mutant freak, neither." Hal snorted. "Don't think he'll ever be able to use his arm again."

"Marcus couldn't stay on top forever…no pun intended." George said sourly. "I was wondering when somebody was gonna beat him. I didn't think it'd be someone six inches shorter than him, though. I forget that Hotstreak was a gang-banger and learned to fight before he was a metahuman."

"Damn mutant freaks." Hal said comfortably. George rolled his eyes. Simmons sighed heavily through his nose.

"Really, Hal, it's not their fault if they look different. It's the gas that's changed their DNA sequence structures around. The RNA can no longer correctly copy the chromosomal—"

"You're wasting your breath, Simmons. Hal doesn't understand a damn word of it." George butted in. Hal scowled at him but George kept talking before he could say a word. "Why don't we talk about this later and have Alex take a shower. Nobody touches him when he drops the soap…quite frequently."

"All the same…" Simmons insisted with a glance to Alex. George nodded his understanding while Hal sighed impatiently.

"Look, why's it—"

"Shut up, Hal." George and Simmons interrupted in unison.

* * *

_Alex  
Shower _

Razor.

I have this razor.

I have these razorblades.

* * *

_May 23, 3:31 AM  
Hotstreak's Cell _

Hotstreak's eyes snapped open as he sat up straight. He automatically looked around anxiously like he was expecting a bad sort of company to be sitting somewhere, just waiting for him to make eye contact before leaping and making the kill.

The dream had already faded, but there wasn't much to recall, anyways. It was one of your typical run-away-from-unseen/unknown-monster-thing-that's-chasing-you-tirelessly nightmares.

_Was it really unknown?_

This was the question that truly plagued him. He knew what it was but he _didn't_ know what it was. That was one of the things that had scared him so—that horrible _familiarity_ but not quite being able to put his finger on it and say Eureka, chief, this _is_ the convict.

There was the whole fact that he didn't want to be able to, though. He didn't want to remember what he had successfully forgotten…but there was a feeling (and his feelings were never wrong) that he would remember anyways.

He wiped his face and his hand came away wet. Upon gazing at his palm, he realized he had been crying in his sleep.

* * *

_May 23, 12:47 PM  
"Recess"_

"Alright, the warden said that I could teach you guys a little bit about boxing!" Billy yelled out. He was standing on a table with several people crowded around him. "But you've _got to promise_ that you guys won't start fights about this, or I won't be able to teach you anymore. Got it?"

There were mixed sounds of agreement.

"Good." Billy continued to explain how it would work, but Jamal noticed that Hotstreak wasn't outside. The only other place he could've been was the cafeteria or in his cell, and neither was like the redhead to do so.

"Jamal, where you goin'?" James whispered as he started walking away.

"Hotstreak ain't here. Imma see where he at, see if somethin' up." he answered. James nodded and volunteered to come with him.

"Where're you two headed?" Billy called from his place on top of the table, interrupting himself.

"See where Hotstreak is. He's usually out here with the rest of us, and he was at lunch." James said. Billy seemed nervous suddenly and bit his lip. It may have been the years of training in boxing and fighting and things like that, but he had a powerful instinct that never wronged him. Billy wasn't a fool; he knew something was going to happen.

The air was positively sick with it.

"Right…" he said after a moment. "Hurry back."

_

* * *

Prison Cafeteria _

Hotstreak stared down at his hands moodily, a deep frown on his handsome features. It was impossible to stop thinking of his nightmare in the wee hours of the morning. Did it have something to do with Alex Sanchez? Hotstreak didn't know, and didn't think it could be possible—he had only seen Sanchez a grand total of four times, all less than two minutes in length, so he didn't really know the guy. And yet, something told him that Alex Sanchez had everything to do with it.

Hotstreak stared down at his hands moodily, a deep frown on his handsome features. It was impossible to stop thinking of his nightmare in the wee hours of the morning. Did it have something to do with Alex Sanchez? Hotstreak didn't know, and didn't think it could be possible—he had only seen Sanchez a grand total of four times, all less than two minutes in length, so he didn't really know the guy. And yet, something told him that Alex Sanchez had to do with it. 

"Yo Hotstreak!"

The teen started at the sudden noise. Up until Jamal had called him, everything had been silent. The lunch-servers weren't even there to talk and yell at him. It seemed…deserted around the prison.

Until Jamal and James showed up, that was.

"What?" he called back irritably. He saw the Puerto Rican and African-American look at each other and felt a surge of annoyance. _Why can't they leave me alone today?_ he wondered in annoyance.

"Jus' wanna know wha's botherin' you, thas all." Jamal said coolly as he walked over to him. Hotstreak let his head drop into his hands tiredly.

"Late night. Couldn't fall asleep." _Couldn't go _back_ to sleep, actually,_ he thought bitterly. James chewed on the inside of his lip before sitting down next to the metahuman with a barely audible thump.

"Somethin' more to the story?" he asked. Hotstreak sighed.

"Just let it go, guys! I'm _fine_!" he snapped.

"Tone shows just how fine you really is, man. Guess you want some time alone; I can understand that shit. Why don't you jus' go back to ya cell and nap or somethin'?" Jamal raised an eyebrow.

"…yeah." Hotstreak agreed wearily. "Yeah, I'll do that."

* * *

_Alex  
Cell_

I hear footsteps. I know they're Hotstreak's. I know because I know. I'm not sick. I am merely hellishly aware of him. I have recognized his footsteps. His eyes. His hair. His attitude. How he'll saunter instead of walk. The way his lip will curl in one corner in a sneer to show his mockery or disgust. I am obsessed with him. And so many things about him. His hands. His broad shoulders.

How smooth his skin is.

It can rip easily. Skin is an organ to protect the body. But it is an incredibly thin piece of paper compared to a razor.

A razorblade.

These razorblades.

Knife?

I don't know anymore. It's sharp. It will do.

He comes.

* * *

_Prison Cell _

The guard walked Hotstreak back to the West end, opened his cell door, watched him walk in, and held out handcuffs.

"Warden says you're supposed to be cuffed down whenever you're in here." he said, sounding slightly apologetic. Hotstreak glared at him venomously; though the bracelets stopped his powers, they couldn't subdue the green fire raging furiously in his eyes.

Alex sat huddled in the shadowed corner, patiently waiting for the guard to lock Hotstreak down…and leave. After a vehement argument, what he was waiting for happened. Good things come to those who wait.

Hotstreak sighed heavily through his nose and allowed his head to fall back onto the cot. He stared up at the ceiling that was laced with cracks. _One crack…two crack…three crack…no wait, sheep,_ he thought to himself in confusion. His eyes were closed before he knew it. Sleep was slowly drifting its foggy hands on his mind when a small noise acted as a light, slicing through it and bringing him back to consciousness.

He opened his eyes to see Alex standing at the foot of his bed and staring down at him with a look of utter concentration. He jumped slightly. Unfortunately, it seemed to bring Alex back to earth. His lips peeled back over his teeth again, and Hotstreak thought he was going to scream.

"You know everything."

"…you seriously need to knock that off. I have no fucking idea what you're talking about." Hotstreak growled after staring at Alex for a moment. He uneasily noted how the madman's hands were behind his back, his arms moving as if he was toying with something in them. In the silence that followed Hotstreak's statement, there was a barely audible dripping sound. The bang baby raised his head to see if he could look at the spot of floor Alex was standing on; he could, and it was something red that was making that unsettling drip.

Psycho is to Alex as blood is to red.

Sanchez was holding something sharp.

"Alex…" Hotstreak started with caution in his voice. "What do you have behind your back?"

Alex grinned like a little child that had just been caught stealing from the candy jar. He held out both hands. One razorblade was embedded into each palm amidst a river of blood that cascaded in lackadaisical crimson streams to the floor. As Hotstreak watched, temporarily thrown into an astonished stupor, one of the blades slipped from the flesh and clattered to the floor with a light tinkling sound. Alex looked down at it momentarily, almost in confusion, before pulling the other razor out of his hand and holding it casually between his thumb and index finger. Hotstreak felt his muscles slacken in shock as his mind incessantly yammered two words

_(oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit)_

over and over again. He tried to speak and found his voice gone.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Alex murmured as he stepped closer to Hotstreak. He gazed down at him, almost in a tender, affectionate way, before his face warped into a ghastly rictus of frenzied panic and wrath and a shriek exploded from his throat. He moved rapidly; so rapidly, in fact, that Hotstreak didn't even have time to blink before Alex was on him, positively yowling like a confined dog, one hand digging fingernails like claws into his throat and the other waving madly above his head, the razor clinched tightly in his fingers—quite literally, _in_. More of the hot blood poured down onto Hotstreak as a startled scream wrenched its way out of his throat. The razor came down and lodged itself into Hotstreak's shoulder. Alex's hands pulled up, slipped, and came down again to grab the razor back into his by now mutilated fingers.

Sound seemed to fade out into dull background noise while vision became sharper and clearer. A well-defined coldness fell over Hotstreak, and his hastily thudding heart slowed and calmed back to a leisurely, relaxed pace. He saw with perfect clarity that all he simply had to do was worm one leg up between Alex's thighs and shove as hard as he could, whether to hurt him or unbalance him, then to quickly bring up the other one and kick him off.

The wonders adrenaline can do for you while a raging psychopath is bent on rearranging the continents of your face are quite beneficial.

The razor slipped in Alex's blood and fell onto Hotstreak's chest. Alex leaned forward, a rather exaggerated movement due to his shuddering haste, and allowed Hotstreak to jerk his foot up all the way to his chest and kick him. Blind fright made him overcompensate for having only one leg available to kick; Alex seemed to be flying rather than sprawling backwards. He crashed into the cell door and fell to the concrete ground. A reverberating _clanggg! _rewarded him.

Alex had fallen and landed in such a way the razorblade had sunk into his left eye socket. There was a horribly audible pop as the intended murder weapon easily pushed through the flimsy skin and into the bloody gelatin inside.

He actually giggled as he felt the eye begin oozing out of the socket, the razorblade still stuck in there like a tack in a wall. It was this rather than the actual sight that made the clear coldness evaporate from Hotstreak's mind and made him feel weak suddenly.

"_Silent Hill!!" _Alex shrieked, pointing a suddenly accusatory finger at the bang baby. He felt his heart stop; it was a relatively peculiar sensation.

_Silent Hill?!_

"Silent Hill!!" Alex screamed again. His fingers, now extraordinarily dexterous, ripped the razor out of his eye. "Silent Hill!" He slashed at his face. Cleanly-cut flaps of skin drooped loosely.

"_No!" _Hotstreak screamed. Alex merely cackled maniacally, almost sounding like it was instead a hysterical sob, and repeated himself three more times, accentuating each word with another flap of skin hanging slack from his face. _There's so much BLOOD,_ Hotstreak thought sickly.

"SSSSSILENT SILENT SILENT SILENT SILENT SILENT SILENT HILLLLLL!!" Alex howled. The veins in his wrists were slit open wildly as he continued that high, goblin laughing-sob of his. The muscles and tendons in Hotstreak's arms bulged as he yanked against the handcuffs restraining him to the cot as Alex continued to destroy himself.

His one good blue eye rolled madly around. Rivulets of scarlet pooled into a puddle on the floor, running down Alex's body in sick, sticky streams. He began hacking away at the very top of his leg with the razorblade.

"_NYYYYAAAAAAAHHHH I WIN I WIN I WIN I SAID I WOULDN'T PLAY WITH THEM BUT I WIN I WIN ANYWAYS NYAAHH I WIN I WIN YOU LOSE YOU GET TO STAY AND PLAYYYY WITHOUT MEEEE—"_

Apparently, the razor wasn't good enough for Alex's thigh. He reached over to wrap his once-fingers around a leg of his own cot and yanked. The five-inch-thick wood gave way with a splintering snap under his psychotic power. He was left with a jagged end that he immediately began stabbing into his leg, over the cuts he had made with the razor. _Now _he was screaming with pain, but he still would not stop. He tilted his head back, Adam's apple straining out against the skin of his neck as tendons pulled, screaming and laughing and sobbing and seeming to not breathe.

And still, Hotstreak couldn't find his voice. He felt his eyes bulging from their sockets with the scream stuck like a bug in flypaper. His heart was damn near palpitating in his chest—it vaguely seemed intent on galloping its way up his throat and out his mouth. Alex soon left his leg there on the floor as blood spurted from the cut femoral artery. With all the blood he had lost from his head and his wrists, Hotstreak thought Alex would've been dead by now, but this wasn't the case. The severed limb twitched and jerked in a way it shouldn't have. Alex began to hack away at his other one. He was still screaming the town's name. _Why the fuck doesn't anybody hear this?! _Hotstreak screamed to himself mentally.

Now the other leg joined its mate to violent twitching on the floor. Alex looked back up at Hotstreak. He was grinning, although it was more of a rictus of pain and unfathomable terror…or maybe just because his mind was now gone completely (as if it hadn't been already) and the muscles were involuntarily drawing up. He hyperventilated in deep, raspy pants as he bent over and ran towards Hotstreak on his hands. The way the blood jetted out of his jagged stumps almost made it seem they were rockets propelling him forwards.

Something flashed in Hotstreak's mind.

_Flashback  
November, 1999_

_Silent Hill_

_A half-figure supported itself on its hands. To say white wasn't accurate—it seemed to be a mottled light gray. The ragged remains of what was once a black, or maybe dark blue, cloak hung in tatters from its shoulders. The hands were malformed and twistingly clawed. A little redhead, paralyzed in terror, cowered behind the stacks of crates. He was able to peer through the cracks and watch the snow fall and the Silent Hill monster wander aimlessly._

_Maybe not quite aimlessly; it was searching. An instinctual fear screamed that it was searching for nobody else but him._

—Flash_—_

_A half-figure, face down towards the ground as it ran on its hands towards the redhead, panted in deep, raspy breaths. Ratty, unwashed dark hair fell in matted thickets around both faces. He screamed; everything went black or white or gray or maybe lavender, for all he knew; he came to back behind the crates. A still-bleeding gash across his chest made him come to the awful realization that it hadn't been a dream._

_Prison Cell  
Present Day_

"Sanchez, shut the fuck UP!!" a guard—probably Hal—screamed as inmates began swarming back. Hotstreak didn't even hear him over the pounding of his heart. Billy's face turned gray at the scene; he turned and fled back the way he came, screaming for the guards, screaming to God, just screaming. There were more screams and shouts and cries as more inmates saw what was going on in the cell. Hotstreak's voice finally unlocked itself and the building scream finally came out.

"_For God's sake he's fucking killing himself he's insane he hacked off his legs he's got razorblades—"_

Alex's once-hand grabbed out at his side. Hotstreak jerked away with a strangled cry of disgust. Alex's lips were forming words; another voice was speaking them.

_Come back._

Everything became a blur at this point. He was dimly aware people were screaming, guards were standing outside in shock, guards were throwing the door open, George and Doc Simmons were inside and pulling Alex away, Jamal, James, and Billy had somehow forced their way through and were standing there trying to get him to respond, Alex was screaming louder than anybody else, blood coated the walls and ceiling and Hotstreak, and the only thing he could clearly hear and understand was Silent Hill whispering to him.

* * *

Now wasn't that cool? XD I became a little unsure of how Hotstreak would react in a situation like that, and I like to keep people as in-character as possible. I hope it's good enough…I tried, I really did! I thought he'd kinda freak out (wouldn't you?) because it's like…a guy that's cutting off his own LEGS. See my point? XD

Reviews make me squeal like a little girl :)


	3. The Plotting Begins, Annnd?

Yah. That took wayyy too long, and I'm sorry…things around here are being rather…dramatic, shall we say? Let's not get into that, though. Thanks to reviewers, I'm so, so sorry about the wait…it was way longer than I expected. I'm gonna try to manage a page a day, but school's ending soon so we're getting ready for finals and crap like that…so I'm getting bombarded.

I wanna apologize for how bad this chapter is. I figured you guys would want an update and I'm hoping the next chapter will be better. I'm sorry :( …anyways, here we go.

* * *

_Overview_

Alex had died, raving and screaming, shortly after George and Simmons had pulled him out of his cell. Shortly may have been a bit over-stated—it was another hour and a half before his voice finally gave out, and another forty-five minutes before his actual death.

Hotstreak hadn't spoken to anybody but Jamal, Billy, and James since Alex's suicide. Even Snake Eyes couldn't rile a response out of him, and he was well known for being the most annoying little punk in the prison, quite possibly in the whole damn _state_. Hotstreak had understandably been moved from his cell to far down the hall, where he met a whole other group of inmates.

* * *

_May 30, 10:43 PM  
Hotstreak's New Cell_

"Dude, wh-what'd you s-say to Alex, m-m-man?" a busted crack dealer asked Hotstreak, twitching and stuttering his way through his sentence. Hotstreak glared at him—he was sick of being asked that same question over and over again, and finally decided to answer it.

"_Nothing." _he hissed vehemently. The dealer glared at him before shuffling over to his toilet.

"Y-yeah, well, I d-d-d-d-don't buh-huh-lieve you." Apparently, he had a stuttering problem naturally, and the drugs had only made it worse. The metahuman snarled at him and spat.

"Believe whatever the hell you want. I don't care." he said.

"Hehe, you s-say that n-n-nuh-huh-now…"

Hotstreak turned to face him again with a hard glare, eyes with the personality of a butcher's knife. "What does that mean?" he challenged.

"I dunno." the man giggled. Hotstreak gave him a weird look and shook his head. He had no idea what to say to the stuttering junkie across from him. _Maybe the freak just wants to psyche me out…_he thought. Any way he looked at it, he wanted out of his own cell and into the dealer's, just to beat the shit out of him like he would've normally.

He found himself cursing Sparky and Brain Boy for the first time in a week. He had been so caught up in worrying and protecting himself (not to say that many bothered him, after what had befallen Marcus) that he forgot all about the superheroes.

* * *

_May 31, 12:02 PM  
Hawkens Residence_

"The inmate reportedly killed himself with a razorblade he had stolen from the showers." Shelly Sandoval was saying on Robert Hawkens' TV. Virgil Hawkens and Richie Foley were watching attentively, their gazes never wavering from the screen that showed the cell that was devoid of everything but the toilet and blood. "Prison guards say he threatened the bang baby Hotstreak, and then began mutilating and eventually killing himself."

"There's way too much blood to be just normal little cuts. Even if he did slit his wrists and throat and stuff," Richie said absently as he pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"Why would they lie? She said he _mutilated_ himself, Rich, not cut." Virgil replied. "I bet he—"

"We have a fellow inmate of Alex Sanchez and Hotstreak, Billy LaVerne. Billy," Shelly turned to the Caucasian, "what exactly did you see?"

"Hm…well…we were coming back from what we call recess. I was teaching some of the inmates boxing; I'm a boxing instructor. The warden decided to let me teach them a little. So we were coming back from that, and I was the first one down here, and I saw…blood. Only the blood and Alex registered at first. I didn't even remember Hotstreak was in there…I just saw that and everything kinda went blank. I ran back to get the guards, or _somebody_." Billy said uncomfortably. It was obvious he had been heavily persuaded into the interview.

"What was Alex doing that was so horrible?" Shelly inquired. Billy didn't speak for a few seconds, his face reflecting and grave as he collected his thoughts.

"He had hacked his own legs off. With the cot leg."

The camera showed Sandoval's eyes widen and her jaw drop. Billy chuckled wryly.

"Shall I continue, Ms. Sandoval? He sliced up his face like it was a fucking watermelon. All hanging in flaps of skin. Eye was gone. Wrists were cut open like a Thanksgiving turkey. He kept screaming Silent Hill…his hometown, I'm guessing. Shall I continue?"

"N-no, Mr. LaVerne, I, it's alright…" Shelly trailed off, perplexed and sickened. "How…how is Hotstreak taking the suicide?"

"Just fine. He's tough—he's gotten through it." Billy replied shortly. "I think I'm done here."

Richie turned off the TV and turned to Virgil. The black boy stared back as they both tried to think of something to say.

"Soo…we look up Silent Hill?" Virgil said finally. Richie nodded wordlessly, and the two stood up.

"I wanna know what Hotstreak did for Alex to suddenly flip out like that." Richie frowned as they walked to Virgil's room where his computer was stationed. Virgil shrugged.

"Alex had a history of psychotic stuff, bro. He might not have done anything. Didn't you catch the news last night? One of the guys said he tried to bash his fingers off with a rock." he informed.

"…oh." Richie had not, obviously, seen last night's reports. "Er…alright. Lemme look up everything on one Alex Sanchez cuz I haven't been keeping up, and then we'll look up Silent Hill."

"Alright." Virgil agreed as Richie flopped himself down comfortably in Virgil's rolling chair. He pushed the button and the monitor beeped to life. Virgil stood behind the genius, looking over his shoulder as everything loaded. His AIM window popped up; Daisy immediately IMed him.

_Xo Daisy x3: heyy, virgil! frieda and I wanted to know if you and richie wanted to come hang out later today at the diner :)  
_  
The two boys looked at each other quickly. "Just tell her we're busy working on the chemistry lab or something." Virgil instructed. Richie nodded.

_Sparky123: It's Richie. Sorry, ladies, but me and V have to work on our chem. lab. Maybe another time?  
Xo Daisy x3: aww :( are you surrrrre?  
Sparky123: Unfortunately.  
Xo Daisy x3: no fun! alright, we'll ttyl then? have fun with that evil thing ;) bye! 3  
Sparky123: Ohh yeah. Bye_

"Alrighty then, let's get crackin'!" Richie said lightly as he put up an away message (Automatic response from Sparky123: working on that devil's spawn known as The Iodine Laboratory XP) and pulled up the internet. "Let's see here…Alex Sanchez…enter…" He peered at the summaries underneath the links. "Nope…no…no…hmm, maybe…take that back, no…did I spell the name right? I swear I did."

"Yeah. Keep looking." Virgil commanded.

"Righto, captain. Hey, this looks promising." Richie clicked on the bolded link that read _Man found guilty of murder of family. _The summary was better: _Alex Sanchez, rumored to be a resident of Silent Hill, was found guilty of the murder of his family earlier this morning. Click here for more details. _

"Sounds like our guy." Virgil commented. Richie nodded his agreement, and the page finished loading. The blonde scrolled down through a few advertisements to see the article.

**Man Found Guilty of Murder of Family**

_Alex Sanchez, resident of Silent Hill, was found guilty of the murder of his family earlier this morning. His two-month trial has finally come to a close with a gruesome ending. The defendant's attorney pleaded insanity, but the court would not allow it._

"I wonder why…" Virgil frowned.

"Maybe he got worse when he was in prison," Richie suggested. Virgil thought it over, looking at Richie contemplatively.

"I guess so." He shrugged and turned his attention back to the article. It continued to say how Alex had originally been found—stumbling aimlessly down the streets, dried blood splashed everywhere on his body in exquisitely abstract patterns. He had wandered into Dakota City, all the way from Silent Hill, West Virginia, when somebody called the police. He had been picked up and questioned, whereupon he said he killed his family…in so many words. Because it was unclear what had happened, there was a two-month long trial that ended, obviously, in Alex being found guilty of murder. He was to be sent to the Dakota State Penitentiary for twenty-five years. The article was dated February 9th, 2000.

"He was in there for seven years, three months, and fourteen days. One hell of a place to be, one hell of a way to die." Richie remarked.

"No kiddin'." Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Now for Silent Hill…"

"Huh!" Richie's brow furrowed deeply. "No news…just a bunch of rumors and missing person reports."

"Let's check 'em out. There's not that many."

"Uhh…V?" Richie pointed to the screen. There were over ten pages of rumors and reports to check out. Virgil was silent. Richie looked up at him with a slightly amused expression, making the teen smirk and hit him over the head. The keys clacked softly under Richie's fingers as he narrowed down his search: Silent Hill missing persons. Both the boys' eyes widened as they saw the amount of missing reports.

"Jesus…there must be over twenty people missing in that one town each year." Virgil said softly in awe.

"Look at the graph. Man…" Richie breathed. He had clicked on a link, and the graph that was shown on the page showed the years 1985-2001 and how many people were reported missing, and never heard from again, each year. Low to high, it was twelve to forty-two.

"Notice how it spikes every ten years or so?" Virgil said as he traced the line with his finger. Richie nodded and leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head.

"So the town's obviously got a high crime rate." he gathered. "That many people don't just run away and not be heard from again. They were kidnapped and killed, kidnapped and let live but for some reason never came back, or just ran away."

"Maybe Silent Hill is hauuuunted!" Virgil suggested playfully, waving his hands around to indicate spookiness. Richie grinned.

"And all the missing people were killed and eaten alive by something!"

"Just not in that order, right bro?"

"Well duh." The two grinned at each other and went on to the next missing person report.

* * *

_Two hours later _

"V, lookit this!" There was honest surprise and urgency in Richie's voice that drew Virgil away from Halo 2.

"What, what?!" he asked, tripping over his own feet to get to the computer. He rubbed his aching kneecap and looked up at the screen. There was a young boy, maybe seven or eight, with bright green eyes and red hair with blonde highlights. The information was a tad shocking.

_Name: Francis Stone  
Age: Eight  
Height: 4'5"  
Reported missing: 6/1/2000  
Call 1-555-missing if you see this child_

"…you thinking what I'm thinking?" Richie asked with wide eyes.

"Yup." Virgil breathed. "So he's from Silent Hill…like Alex. But the news said they didn't know each other, and that could be true. What the hell happened?"

"Who the hell knows?" Richie shrugged.

"Hotstreak does." Richie looked at the superhero gravely, who was staring just as somberly back. They stared each other in the eye, trying to decide if the other one was being serious.

"You sure you wanna ask him? He won't open up to us." the blonde supergenius frowned.

"We gotta try!" Virgil said enthusiastically. Richie sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Why don't I think this is gonna end up well?"

Because it wasn't going to, that's why.

* * *

_June 1__st__, 12:32 PM  
"Recess"_

Hotstreak stared out at the world he was kept from, from behind the chainlink fence topped with barbed wire. He knew what he wanted to do, _needed_ to do, but he didn't know how to go about it. Billy watched him pensively, knowing what he was thinking.

"I don't think you'd make it too far outta here, Hotstreak, especially wearing the jumper." he said. Hotstreak looked up at him with a dark frown.

"I know, Billy." was all he said. The boxer sighed deeply and turned his attention back to the two inmates he was currently teaching, a plan already forming in his sharp mind.

"Hotstreak, how you goan get outta here?" Jamal asked, footsteps crunching on the gravel as he walked towards Hotstreak. The metahuman gazed over at him with a shrug.

"No clue. I'll figure something out—got to."

"Listen, man." Jamal pitched his voice low as he sat down next to him. He looked Hotstreak straight in the eye with the solemnest expression the pyro had ever seen. "I think Billy, James, and me is goan think of somethin' fo' ya to bust out. You gotta. That shit with Alex…what happened to ya? I remember how you acted and the look on yo' face. You remember somethin'."

Something glimmered in Hotstreak's eyes. "Don't bring that up, Jamal. It's none of your business." he warned. The black man smirked and chuckled, making Hotstreak narrow his eyes. "What?"

"Silent Hill, man. I heard that place is supposed to be a ghost town that fucks up tha places near it. Jus' don't want ya gettin' into some shit you can't handle. You mah boy, man."

"Nah, Jamal. _James_ is your boy." Hotstreak smirked. Jamal snickered at this with a nod.

"He ain't goan be once we get tha fuck outta here. But tha's not the point." He turned serious again. "You gotta blow this joint. Somethin's goin' down, Hotstreak, and you don't belong here. You belong whereva this shit's happenin'." A frown creased his face as Hotstreak's expression changed subtly. It took him a second to figure out what changed and what the new expression was; it was the look in his eyes, and that look was uncertainty, maybe fear.

"Jamal, I don't belong back in Silent Hill."

"_What? _You know that place?" Jamal said sharply.

"Yeah. My hometown." Hotstreak looked at him openly. "I don't know what I'm gonna do, but I know I'm gonna get outta here, one way or another." Jamal nodded slowly.

"Maybe tonight, dawg. We could probably start up a distraction or some shit. Let Snake Eyes loose aroun' tha place."

"That'd be one hell of a distraction." he snickered.

"All tha betta. We'll see wha' we can do." Jamal grinned. Hotstreak couldn't help but return it.

"Now _this_ is gonna be fun."

The sentence carried over to Billy, who looked back curiously. He saw the smirks on Hotstreak's and Jamal's faces and felt one growing on his own. He looked over to James, caught his eye, and motioned for the Rican to follow him. The two walked over to the two that were busy plotting.

"Talking about busting out, Hotstreak?" Billy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell yeah!"

"You have no idea where you're going to go, do you." he said, sounding amused. Hotstreak glared slightly at him.

"Got an idea, but it's not a good one." he admitted. James smiled.

"That's okay, man. You gotta do what you gotta do, and you gotta get outta the prison. You can probably gang up with some other bang babies or somethin', man." he suggested.

"That's probably what I'm gonna end up doing. I don't know how it's gonna end up, but it's what I'm gonna do. I think Ebon probably got out by now, knowing him." Hotstreak said.

"Don't let him outdo you now." Billy goaded good-naturedly.

"Trust me, I won't! Got a bone to pick with him, anyways." he growled. _Yeah, and by the time this is all over, I'm probably not gonna even _have_ any bones,_ he thought to himself dismally. He knew that what he wanted to do and needed to do were two entirely different things—wanted to lay low for a bit in Dakota City, needed to go to Silent Hill. It was in West Virginia, but he'd get there, one way or the other.

* * *

_11:30 PM  
Twenty-six hours before_

"Yo Hotstreak!" somebody stage whispered in the dark. His eyes opened halfway, thinking he was responding to an oncoming dream before the whisper came again. He sat up straight, happy to note once again that he was no longer chained down anymore.

"What?"

"I'm getting outta here tomorrow. Want me to go talk to your bang baby buddies?"

"Who are you?" Hotstreak asked sharply.

"Bobby. I got buddies in with Ebon and they're getting out too…might be able to bust him out, and I know I wouldn't be able to bust you outta here myself, so they could get out and get Ebon with 'em or something and then we come back here and get _you_ out. Whatcha think?" Bobby inquired.

_Well, I think getting out of here will indirectly get me mutilated and killed, but I think I'm all for it. Do crazy people know they're going crazy, I wonder,_ Hotstreak asked himself. Out loud, he said, "I think that's a damn good idea. Can you pull it off?"

"Yeah, man. We're _good_." Bobby assured.

And that was the start of the jailbreak.

* * *

Wooo, SUSPENSE :D isn't it great? Muahaha…yeah, jailbreak is the next chapter. I'm gonna have to think about that and maybe research stuff cuz I am delving into unknown territory…actually, the whole prison thing is unknown territory, but apparently I'm not doing that bad of a job, so yay, and huzzah for run-on sentences!

Thanks for all the support I've been getting ::hearts::


	4. Let The Jailbreak Commence!

Sup guys? –smiles- OH GOD NO –dodges chucked produce of frustration-

First off: I AM WELL AWARE OF THE EPIC FAIL OF THIS CHAPTER. But it's 21 pages…or so MS Word tells me, in size 11 Arial font. The other chapters have been _nine_. I so tried to make up for the pure amount of crap this chapter is by making it nice and long. Because writer's block…it was terrible! It grabbed me and kicked the shit out of me then locked me in the basement for almost a year. There were a couple times I escaped and managed a page or two, and then it captured me once more. And I was locked up. And then, there was my epic escape about a week ago, but I was very weak, so I forced myself to write…so this chapter is now done.

Although…I was going to have the whole jailbreak in this chapter, including getting on the road to Silent Hill, but…er…I figured you people wanted an update. –coughs-

I am so sorry it took this disgusting amount of time. –cries- But this chapter never would've happened without Hack.Drawer and darkaces girl. Particularly without Hack.Drawer. I loved how you semi-stalked me. XD And darkaces girl's encouragement, saying that this is one of the best Hotstreak fics on here…-sniffle- Andandand Daddy's Morbid Little Girl, cuz you reviewed a couple times encouraging me, and all the rest of the reviewers. –stops with the Emmy Awards speech-

One last thing before going on…tell me if there's anything that contradicts something or just doesn't make sense. I've written this in over the course of a year, sooo my memory of the chapter was a little…er…fuzzy. –shifty eyes- I've looked it over quite a few times, so there shouldn't be too many errors.

ON WITH IT!!

_

* * *

_

11:45 AM

Bobby strolled through the prison, this time as a free man, to the visiting area. He scanned the crowd of inmates and walked over to Ebon—he wasn't exactly hard to miss, what with being a giant purple and black shadow-thing. The bang baby glared down at him dauntingly.

"Who're you?" he asked gruffly. Bobby swallowed.

"I…I'm Bobby Ewell. Got business with you." He pitched his voice so low that Ebon leaned in skeptically to hear him.

"What kinda business are you talkin' about, Ewell?"

"A jailbreak."

Ebon's eyes widened and slit down immediately. "What're you tryin to do?"

"Get you outta here…maybe get the others, too, then bust Hotstreak out. I was in the other prison with him." Bobby answered, trying not to show how scared he was.

"Hotstreak, huh? And the rest of 'em…a'ight. What you gonna do?"

"Some of my buddies are planning it out right now as we speak. There's gonna be an insider here coming to bust you out early morning. Way early morning. Then a friend of mine will get Shiv, and we're gonna meet at the old detention center, then go get Kangor and Hotstreak." Bobby revealed.

"That's nice. How you gonna get me out?" he asked impatiently.

"Got an insider in each jail you all are in, like I said, except for Hotstreak. We're gonna have to be really careful about him." Bobby bit his lip as the guards came closer.

"What're you two talking about?" one on the skinnier side asked suspiciously. Bobby thought wildly before blurting out an answer.

"His girl. He thinks she might not be waiting for him much longer…" He trailed off. This seemed to be the right answer; the guards were appeased.

"Wouldn't surprise me." a burlier one snorted disgustedly, wandering back over to his previous post. Ebon scowled after him.

"Don't listen to them. We need you on this one, Ebon. You're good at sneaking around and carrying out plans. And you're their leader." Bobby pleaded softly as to not be overheard. "I know you wanna know why I'm busting you out, I guess. It's cuz you guys are like…like a legend among me and my friends. We wanna be able to say we helped you guys out of a jam."

"Don't be expectin' no favors." Ebon replied acidly. Bobby shook his head slowly.

"No. I know that. My group and I will be here at 1:30 in the morning…be ready." Ebon looked at him contemplatively before nodding his consent.

_

* * *

_

Shiv's Prison  
11:45 AM

"So you guys—" Shiv said loudly, excitedly.

"_Shhh!" _Bobby's friend Veronica hissed. "Do you want them to hear you?!"

"Uh, nope, guess not." he giggled. The woman rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Look. We'll be here around 1:30. Make sure you're ready to get going, because we're not gonna have a lot of time. Then we're gonna meet up at the old detention center, then get Hotstreak." she snapped. Shiv blinked.

"Jeez, lady, you seem a little upset. You want a hug?"

"_No." _she said firmly. "Just be ready. We need to get _poor_ Hotstreak out of there…"

"Yeah, heard what happened on the news. Sheesh! Guy's nuttier than me." Shiv muttered, then broke out into a wide grin.

"And that takes a lot." Veronica said disgustedly. _What a bitch!_ Shiv thought crossly, but tried not to express it. She was, after all, going to help him.

"Uh…1:30, right?" he asked. She nodded.

_

* * *

_

Weight Room  
2:35 PM

Hotstreak watched Jamal carefully as he benched the two-fifty bar with weights attached. There was an odd, uncharacteristically uncomfortable silence between them. Neither knew what to say to the other. The thought of the upcoming event that could make or break them loomed over their heads, blocking all else from their minds. Hotstreak had, of course, told Jamal, James, and Billy about what Bobby told him last night.

"Hotstreak." Jamal said suddenly in a very low voice; the guards were close enough to make them nervous about eavesdropping. The convict turned his head towards his friend to indicate he was listening. "If this don't work out…Imma be doin' somethin' desperate to get you outta here."

"Like…?" Hotstreak asked. He was suddenly more nervous about Jamal's statement than the jailbreak.

"Full-out fuckin' attack people. Make a scene. Get yo' ass a chance to escape."

"They could kill you for that!" he hissed. "Don't be pullin' that shit for me!" Jamal set the bar back down on the hold above him and shot up quickly.

"Brotha's gotta do what a brotha's gotta do fo' a brotha! Marcus fuckin' Corrigan told me that shit—how the hell d'ya think he got in here?! He may have been one mean sonofabitch, but his stupid ass was _loyal_. I dunno 'bout you, Hotstreak, but I ain't lettin' Corrigan top me in _any_ way, and I _ain't_ gonna let you stay in this shit-hole pen! You ain't suppose' to be in here—too fuckin' young, you got business to do, you goan go fuckin' crazy like Alex Sanchez did, and you got somethin' abnormal hauntin' you or some shit like that!" Jamal growled fiercely. "You ain't like th' other fuckas here. Ever since you met Sanchez, you know what they been sayin'? You been tossin' and turnin' all fuckin' night—nightmares! They say you sometimes _scream_, Hotstreak. Thas how _bad_."

"I got fuckin' nightmares, alright." Hotstreak snarled. "They're nothin' you gotta worry about, either! They're _none_ of your damn _business_." He jerked back when Jamal grabbed the front of the orange jumpsuit and got in his face.

"I fuckin' refuse to see you turn out like Alex Sanchez." he said in a soft, deadly voice. Hotstreak was momentarily too stunned to say anything.

"I wouldn't…" he said, eyes wide. He was far too surprised at Jamal's sudden firm ferocity to be angry.

"Alright, break it up!" the guard barked, walking over. Jamal set Hotstreak down calmly, looked him in the eye with a dangerous glint in his own brown orbs for a moment, and looked at the sentry.

"Sorry, sir. Won't happen again." he said coolly.

"It'd better not. I think we've all gotten enough fights and shit ever since Sanchez killed himself. Wouldn't you say, Hotstreak?" he leered. Hotstreak's hands clenched and his eyes narrowed as he tried to resist the urge to punch the guard.

"Easy, man. Tonight." Jamal whispered.

_

* * *

_

Visitor's Area  
5:30 PM

Hotstreak glanced at Bobby through the bullet-proof window as he shifted the dark green phone to his ear, leaning back on the chair casually. "What's up?" he asked, glancing at George carefully. He had a gut feeling Bobby was here to tell him plans about the jail break.

"Look, man, I'm gonna talk to you a little about unimportant bullshit—checking up how you're doing, what's goin' on without me. Gonna mix some of the…subject…in with it." Bobby said in a conspiratorially low voice.

"Right…" Hotstreak cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "So…"

"They'll be here around two in the morning, maybe a little later. Sometimes we get some minor setbacks, and—"

"I've broken out before, Bobby, I know how it is." Hotstreak interrupted.

"Only with your powers—that's the thing." He quickly reversed direction when he saw George's suspicious eyes flicker to them. "See, I dunno if she thinks you're such hot shit anymore now that your powers are blocked."

Hotstreak's eyes filled with nothing but absolute confusion before it hit him. "Oh…no, wait, what! Has she been going around with other guys?" He managed to say it in what he thought was a convincing growl, but he didn't dare check George's face.

"I dunno, man, but I saw her _about two in the morning, maybe a little later_." Bobby said firmly, looking Hotstreak dead in his green eyes and keeping the eye contact, hoping he'd understand. Hotstreak frowned and nodded—yes, he understood.

"How do you know?"

"Me and my buddies were talking about it. We all agreed that's when." Bobby mentally congratulated himself for his creatively improvised way of relaying the information.

"Anybody I know? _My_ "buddies," Bobby?" Hotstreak asked.

"Well, there's this one real shadowy kinda guy, and the other one's pretty psychotic. One of them is a coward and lies to eat more than do any trouble. And an Australian, I think. He likes _kangaroos._"

Hotstreak snorted before he could stop himself. _Good God, this guy's sure as hell slick. If George can't figure out what the hell we're talking about, he's thicker than Bobby._

"Really now." he snickered. "You can tell that bitch that if she's sneaking behind my back while I'm in jail, I'm done with her." He chanced a quick look to George to see him paying no attention whatsoever; he was talking to Hal. Then again, it didn't take much to pay attention to Hal, if you could even manage it. What the hell. "I'll be waiting."

"Alright, man. I'll see you…later." Bobby stumbled over his wording a bit, then waved at him through the glass, hung up the phone, and walked off. As Hotstreak was standing up with an amused smirk, thinking of what an idiot Bobby could be but how very useful it was, George put a hand on his shoulder. Hotstreak froze.

"Two in the morning, huh? Awful late for a girl to be out with another guy. I wasn't even aware you _had_ a girl." he said, brown eyes boring into Hotstreak's green. The metahuman prayed that he wouldn't lose his cool in a tight situation like he usually did. Oh, dammit, keep the lid on the temper pot.

"Then again, you aren't aware of _most _of my personal life." he said stiffly. To his relief, he sounded like he was attempting not to flip out. George continued to stare at him, eyes almost smirking.

"That's true…" He leaned in towards Hotstreak, who became rigid reflexively. "Good luck." George said in a low voice, then grabbed him by the wrists and slapped the handcuffs back on the surprised metahuman. "Let's take you back to your cell."

_

* * *

_

_1:00 AM  
Half an hour before_

Ebon looked around the cell for the last time; the rusting toilet, water-marked sink, shitty cots that passed for beds. He'd either die during the break or escape and never come back here again. Live or die kind of situation, you might say. A ball of paper hit him in the head just as he began zoning out, staring out the window. He muffled a curse and picked up the ball.

"Who threw that?!" he asked dangerously. Someone across the hall shook their head.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. Look at what it says…here's a pencil." This time, the man made sure Ebon was prepared for the incoming object, seeing as how it was pointy. The shadow caught it and unwrinkled the paper.

_I'm the guy Bobby Ewell told you about. A guard on the smaller side is gonna be coming in here in about half an hour, I think. He'll ask who's supposed to be checked out by the warden or something along those lines. That's when you say that you are._

Ebon looked it over twice, thinking of holes. He picked up the pencil and began to write.

_then what? what happens after he takes me out of this one hall?_

It was chucked back over. The man looked at it and began writing quickly. Ebon crossed his arms and sighed through his nose impatiently. When the inmate threw it to him, he caught it in his hand eagerly and damn near ripped it in his haste.

_Back entrance. The guard's name is Cameron, and my name's Devon. Cameron's gonna take you outside through the back and then get you in his own car, then take you to the abandoned detention center. There, you HAVE to wait for everyone else before you make a move, or everything's going to hell._

Ebon frowned at this; waiting? _Fuck_ that, he was gonna be out, he needed excitement. The man called Cameron seemed to read his mind, or maybe his facial expression, because he sighed and shook his head. Ebon hastily scrawled a reply.

_why do I have to wait?!_

Thrown back over.

_Because everything will go to hell, otherwise! There was a minor setback—we don't have any keys or something to get the stoppers off you._

Again, thrown over.

_**MINOR?!**__ that shit could fuck everything up if me and the others can't use our powers!!_

Cameron winced as he read the note. He paused for a moment, thinking of what to write to calm the criminal down.

_I'm sorry about that, Ebon, but it honestly won't be too big of a deal. Sure, your shadow powers would be a big help and make everything a lot easier, but we can do it without them. Trust me. It'll be a piece of cake, except for Hotstreak…_

Ebon rolled his eyes.

_cuz there's no insider where he is, right? why not??_

It was Cameron's turn to be exasperated.

_Because we don't have anybody we can trust, that's why. Bobby said he THINKS he knows a way to get in without tripping off alarms or anything. Then we can get to Hotstreak's cell and get him out anyway we can, then go out that way and to our escape vehicle. We'll be gone before they can do anything. And maybe we can get a key from the warden's office, if we're very, very lucky._

Ebon thought about this and nodded his head slowly.

_Right._

_

* * *

_

Shiv  
1:00  
Half an hour before

The guard led Shiv outside quickly, completely silent, no matter how many times Shiv tried to get him to talk. The bang baby had actually given up on making the guard speak—a sign of how tired he was. He couldn't explain why he was nervous, really; he guessed it was the fact that every time he was involved in a jail break, there was Ebon, Talon, Hotstreak, and Kangor with him, helping him along, even if he was a bit of a psycho…and they had their powers. Now, it was just him with no powers and some guy he didn't know.

"Are we gonna go in your car to the center?" Shiv asked.

"Of course." the unnamed man replied, the first time Shiv heard him speak. "I could be losing my job for this, and get arrested in the process. You'd better be grateful…"

"Yeah!" Shiv said immediately. "Course I am, guy. You're breaking me out and everything." The guard gave Shiv an amused glance.

"My name's Derek."

"'Kay, Derek." Shiv said compliantly. Derek smiled and shook his head.

"Here's my car, Shiv. You had it pretty easy, getting out. Slicker than shit." he said casually, opening up the dark green door of the Toyota as Shiv hurried around. "Put on your seatbelt, too—last thing we need is another cop catching that and recognizing you…come to think of it, lay down in the back."

"What?!"

"Lay down in the back. On the floor."

"Oh come ooon!" Shiv whined childishly. "Why the floooor?"

"Because there's less of a chance people will see you. I _can_ put you in the _trunk_." Derek pointed out. His six-foot height and muscular frame compared to Shiv's scrawny shortness, the guard had a point. The metahuman pouted and shut up quickly. "That's what I thought." Derek smirked. Shiv's lower lip hung out a little more in his childish pout.

Derek finally climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door as Shiv slid onto the floor in the back, moving a few things around.

"Where's your guns?" the maniac asked curiously.

"Not back there." the guard replied, sounding rather smug about the fact.

Silence lapsed back over them, less awkwardly this time, as Shiv began replaying everything, starting from the Big Bang, in his head and how it came to this, this stupid lying in the back of a traitorous cop's car and waiting for the real excitement of busting his buddies out to begin. He sighed inaudibly as Ebon came to his mind.

"Man, I can't wait to see everyone again." Shiv mumbled.

"You guys actually friends, or just crime buddies?" Derek asked. He seemed actually interested in Shiv's answer. When it didn't come immediately, his eyes automatically flicked to the rear-view mirror to look at Shiv's face, even though the bang baby was lying on the floor and therefore invisible to the mirror. "Shiv?"

"I'm thinkin about that one." was the surprised reply. He hadn't been expecting a question like that. "Uhhh…I guess you could say that some of us were. Hotstreak wasn't exactly in the group, but he was there with us a lot ever since we met up. Him and Talon seemed to be friends, though." he added brightly.

"I thought Talon wasn't with you guys anymore…?" Derek said unsurely, phrasing it as more of a question. Shiv's face fell.

"Well, yeah. I'm talkin about before, though. Me and her were friends. She's one of the only ones that would put up with me and gimme hugs." Derek smiled slightly at this. "I miss her."

"That sucks, alright. I've lost touch with a few of my friends ever since I started working there." He jerked his head back to indicate the fading prison in the distance. "Said they didn't believe in it, that I had turned traitor. Stuff like that."

"Turned traitor?" Shiv's interest perked.

"I did a few things that weren't exactly legal. Never got caught." Derek shrugged. "Now remember—don't tell anyone what I just told you. I'm doing you a big-ass favor, doing this."

"I know." Shiv nodded quickly.

"Good." Derek said comfortably. The silence that they were in was now friendly and relaxed. It maintained itself as they passed under streetlamps, through nighttime traffic, deserted streets, and past…

_Cop cars._

"Shit." Derek muttered, glancing out at the patrol vehicle, and checked the speedometer reflexively. There was no reason…absolutely no reason whatsoever (Shiv be damned…and unnoticed, pretty please unnoticed?)…for the car to turn on those damn lamps on the roof and have Derek stop the car.

"What is it?" Shiv asked curiously, beginning to rise to peer out the window.

"_Stay down!!" _Derek hissed venomously, and Shiv immediately dropped back to the floor. Before he could ask what the bleeding hell _that_ was all about, Derek continued, "It's a fucking cop car, and Shiv, if you know what the fuck's good for you, you're gonna keep your ass _down_ and not making a fucking sound, is that understood?"

"Yes sir." Shiv blinked. "Sheesh…"

"Don't sheesh me, Shiv. If they fucking stop me, I'm gonna end up saying that I didn't know you were in my fucking car and you'll go straight back to prison, and the plan will fall down around our ears!!"

"_Alright,_ Derek! I'll be a good boy!" the metahuman pouted childishly. "I know when to shut up."

"Could've fooled me." Derek scoffed under his breath.

"I heard that."

"How nice."

The following five minutes that ensued were some of the edgiest that Derek and Shiv had ever encountered. Derek watched, through peripheral vision, as the big guy in the car's head surveyed them smugly as Derek drove by. He didn't even realize he was muttering death threats and what he'd do if he was called to stop, but there was no bloody _reason_ for him to stop, so why should he stop?

"Dude. Seriously. Shut up." Shiv said.

"_You_ shut up!" Derek shot back maliciously. Shiv glared at the tone, but resided. Stupid as he seemed to be, he could have a bright spark of intelligence every now and then, and thank God for him and Derek that it one of those every-now-and-thens was now.

"…okay. He's outta sight." Derek sighed in palpable relief. "Now we just gotta take a left up off on 45th street to get to the old detention center. Am I right?"

"Yup." Shiv nodded.

The purple-haired man gave a silent sigh of liberation. For now, at least, he was in the clear. He was _free._

_

* * *

_

Ebon  
1:15  
Fifteen minutes before

"Ebon?" a gruff voice called, and in the silence, it sounded like a gunshot. The metahuman opened his eyes (he had only been _resting_ them, honestly) and sat up.

"What?" he called back.

"You got someone to see."

Well. This must've been the man. Ebon rose from the cot as the stranger opened his cell door.

"We're going out the back door." The man spoke in such a low whisper that Ebon had to think for about twenty seconds before realizing what he said, if he had even said anything.

"Okay." he nodded.

They walked down the hall. Once out of that particular area, the traitorous guard picked up his pace to a slow jog. "Devon told you my name was Cameron, right?" he asked. Ebon thought for a second, trudging his way through a hazy memory of the slightly amusing note-passing.

"Yeah."

"Sweet. Alright, we're gonna have to move fast, and then I'm gonna have to go into hiding or something. Not a doubt that they're gonna see the security tapes and see what I've done." Cameron said, indicating the cameras with an unconcerned wave of his hand. _The hell?! _Ebon thought in surprise. _This guy ain't concerned about bein' caught?! _He decided not to voice his thoughts; as long as this Cameron guy got him out of this place, he really didn't give a shit.

"How long will this take?" Ebon asked.

"Well, getting out of here shouldn't take any more than five minutes, if that. Especially if we hurry up, but not too much." Cameron said. "We don't want to appear suspicious or anything." There was sarcasm laced heavily into his voice. Ebon snorted softly.

The two hurried down the hall and to the left, feet padding quietly on the tiles. The security cameras seemed to grow bigger and watch them like hounds; both knew they were running a huge risk of getting caught.

Indeed, they ran into a minor complication.

"Cameron? What're you doing?"

The traitorous guard almost froze in surprise. "I…Kevin. Hey. I'm taking Ebon to—" The man that walked from the shadows cut Cameron off quickly.

"To _freedom_?" he hissed. His short-cut hair was a plain, mousey brown, and decidedly unkempt—if the haphazard way it stuck out into every direction, possible or otherwise, was any indication. Vehement hazel eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

Cameron acted so fast that Ebon almost missed it. He leapt with all the grace of a gazelle and tackled Kevin to the floor. Kevin's head slammed against the tile with a resounding crack, and he was out. The shadow master opened his mouth to talk, but Cameron spoke first.

"Come on. Now we gotta fuckin' _run_." he said quickly. They both looked back at the unconscious man, bleeding from the head. "Hm. Wonder if I'm a murderer now," Cameron said wryly. "Who knows? Maybe I'm gonna end up a prisoner in my own prison."

Ebon chose not to respond.

There were no lights turning on in the prison that hadn't already been on when Ebon and Cameron jumped into the guard's car. He judged it as a brilliantly excellent thing.

"Detention center isn't too far from here," he muttered to himself, backing out of the lot and off the grounds with speed. "And something else, but it's good news I found out a couple of hours ago—they got _keys_ at Hotstreak's prison. For the bracelets." Ebon turned to regard him sharply.

"The shit that's stoppin' our powers?"

"That's right." Cameron nodded. "I thought you might wanna hear that. They're in the warden's office, so I'm not too sure how we're gonna be able to get to them, but my buddy Derek and I used to work at that prison; we know the layout." He smiled when Ebon's posture straightened up.

"Thas good." he said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

"Damn right. I'm gonna need you to duck down low so nobody sees you. I know it's almost 1:30 in the AM, but if we relax, this whole thing's gonna blow over. Somebody may have already found Kevin."

Ebon thought back to the brown-haired guard with suspicious hazel eyes, bleeding from the head on a cold tile floor.

"Yeah."

They drove in relative silence the rest of the way. Cameron parked the car about a block away from the run-down detention center and stepped out cautiously. He looked around surreptitiously before motioning for Ebon to come out.

"Good thing you're a shadow." Cameron murmured, indicating the darkness and shadows. Ebon merely nodded, and they began walking.

_

* * *

_

Detention Center

"Kangor! Ferret!" Shiv cheered, charging forward and throwing his arms around the both of them, or at least attempting to. Kangor grabbed him by the face and pushed him off roughly as Ferret shrank back a little at his callous actions.

"We're happy to see you too, Shiv." Kangor smirked to show he had been playing. Shiv grinned delightedly and leapt back to his feet.

"I knew it'd only be a matter of time! Where's Ebon? I wonder when he's gonna get here! How's—" Shiv rattled off before Derek clamped a hand over his mouth.

"_Quiet. _I like you much better that way." he said casually. Shiv pouted at him and was thoroughly disappointed he was unable to lick his hand disgustingly, with lots of saliva, before Derek pulled his hand away.

"Cameron and Ebon should be here within a few minutes. Cameron told me they're parking about a block away, so I'm expecting them within five. If they're not, I'm heading out looking for them. It's important that you all stay here and quiet if I have to, or this thing will be going down the shitter." Derek warned, looking at all of them seriously. He was glad it was just these three.

"We can stay quiet, mon. I dunno about Shiv, but me and Ferret can." Kangor said, glancing at Shiv from behind his sunglasses. Shiv glared at him indignantly.

"Of course I can stay quiet!" he said loudly. Derek smirked.

"That's exactly what we're afraid of. You need to be a lot better than quiet." he teased. Shiv angled his sulky glare at the traitorous prison guard.

"Hey, I helped ambush _Batman_ and _Robin_, I can be quiet when I need to!" he whined. Derek thought this over.

"I guess that's true…so shut _up_!" he said forcefully. Shiv's glare increased in intensity as he clamped his mouth shut tightly. "That's so much better."

"Impressive how you can deal with him so quick." Ebon's acidic, taunting voice floated over to them from the doorway. Cameron stood behind him, about the same height. Their figures were silhouetted against a faint light, giving off a rather impressive appearance. Shiv grinned.

"Boss!!" he said gleefully. Ebon put out a hand immediately to stop the hug-attack.

"Don't touch me." he said, then looked back at Cameron and over to Derek. "You two are in charge of this, right? How long until we go get Hotstreak?"

"One for business, I say." Derek said coolly. Cameron gave him a warning look. "Well, it's about…" He checked his watch. "1:45? Goddammit, we're late! That dumb bitch clocked it wrong!"

"Veronica was probably driving a lot faster than us. You know how she is." Cameron said defensively.

"She _knew_ she wasn't going to picking anybody up! Why the hell couldn't she have thought about that—dammit, Bobby told Hotstreak that it was gonna be about 2:00 by the time we—"

"Derek, I think Hotstreak's gonna be smart enough to figure out that there's going to be some minor time differences." Cameron said indifferently. He looked at the others for confirmation.

"Hotstreak may seem stupid, but he's pretty smart. Sly, even." Ebon frowned. "He'll figure it out, even if he's anxious."

"But he's impatient. You know how he gets…" Shiv piped up, looking back and forth between Ebon and Derek. Ebon sighed.

"We'd better hurry up."

_

* * *

_

Hotstreak's Cell  
2:02

"Hotstreak!" Jamal hissed. His stage whisper cut through the silence like a butcher's knife; the bang baby sat up immediately.

"Jamal? How the hell are you—"

"George didn't lock ma cell!" he said, pitching his voice low. In the little patch of moonlight streaming from the windows stuck every five feet along the ceiling, Hotstreak could see that Jamal's eyes were wide and excited.

"_What?!"_ He felt his own eyes widen. _Is he actually helping?!_

"I kinda doubt it, but yours might not be locked either…" Jamal said doubtfully, tugging at the handle experimentally. It didn't open. "Shit. You know when yo' buddies are gettin' here?"

"Bobby told me it was gonna be two or a little later." Hotstreak moved off his bed and to the bars quickly in order to hear and speak better to his friend.

"They should be here any minute, then. How much would a little later be, you know?"

"Nah. Bobby just told me two or later." Hotstreak shook his head. Jamal cursed.

"Imma walk around a little, keep some watch. And avoid tha cameras." He smirked a little. "Imma hurry back if I see 'em. I don't think they got any keys or nothin' for the stoppers they got on tha rest of tha Meta Breed…maybe George got a pair…"

"You can't sneak into any of the offices!" Hotstreak hissed, grabbing Jamal's arm through the bars as the black man started away. Jamal looked back at him in surprise, but ended up smirking.

"Jus' watch me, dawg." He pulled away from Hotstreak's grasp and set off on a stealthy jog.

"Jamal!" Hotstreak called after him very, very softly. Jamal didn't even turn around, and Hotstreak lost sight of him in a few seconds due to the darkness. "Fuck…" he groaned.

_

* * *

_

Jamal  
2:10

I been wanderin' around for the past five minutes, checkin' out some of the cameras, and there's a lot of 'em that're _off_. That stupid lil' red light ain't blinkin' or nothin'. What the fuck is George _doin'?_ I can't decide if he helpin' us or not.

Man must be crazy.

Can't help but wonder why he doin' all this. Maybe he ain't—maybe it's all just at trap, but to be real, I don't think thas it. Moms always tol' me I got a good sense of intuition. Gift from God, she said, so I betta not waste it on crime. Sorry, Moms, but this is somethin' that I gotta do…

Whenever I see a guard or a workin' camera, I gotta remember to duck down and stay the hell outta sight. I'm jus' about to George's office…I can see that tha door's open. Ain't no one in there, I don't think. I think I could get in and out real quick…

_

* * *

_

George's Office

Jamal tentatively poked his head in the door, giving a cursory glance before stepping inside. There was a note on George's desk that was just left out there for the world to see, so as Jamal began rooting through drawers, he read it quickly.

Needless to say, he was shocked at what was written.

_You're a smart man. You don't belong here. Help take the kid and get out.  
You may find what you're looking for, and more, in the cabinet to the left of the desk when facing the door.  
Find the keys first. It's not hard._"Crazy bastard." Jamal whispered as he stared at the note.

Regards,  
George

_Find the keys first. It's not hard._

Jamal continued searching through the desk drawers. At the bottom right, all the way in the back underneath stacks of blank copies of police reports, he found a key ring. It held at least seven or eight keys at first glance, most likely more. Whatever, right? Jamal was gonna find the one that belonged to the cabinet.

_You may find what you're looking for, and more._

Just what the hell did that mean?

Jamal rushed over to the metal cabinet, picking out the first key and sticking it into the hole. It didn't go in even halfway. Quite obviously, it wasn't the right one. He went through a few more like this, becoming more and more unsettled as time passed, until a small silver key with a round head slid in smoothly.

"Yes!" he whispered excitedly. He opened the cabinet, and lo and behold, there were keys to the power-stoppers…

…and shotguns, complete with shells.

_You may find what you're looking for, and more._

"Jesus Christ, George." Jamal's voice had suddenly taken a hoarse, shaky tone. _"Guns?"_

_

* * *

_

Outside Hotstreak's Prison  
2:12

"So how are we going to get in?" Shiv asked. Derek opened his mouth to say something, but Cameron hushed him with a wave of his hand.

"A guard who works here told me something about six hours ago. If all goes well inside, there will be a tall black guy coming to the back entrance to let us in. He said not to tell anybody." he informed. Derek looked affronted.

"Why not?"

"It's apparently very delicate condition in there, because of Alex Sanchez and Hotstreak. They've been expecting him to blow up or something." Cameron sighed. "And we have no idea who the guy is. The only other thing he told me is he's taking half a leaf outta Jigsaw's book—you know, from those Saw movies—and he's leaving a few clues around as to what the black guy's supposed to do. I don't know what he's playing at, but we're supposed to wait here. I'm following his orders 'cuz I don't exactly know if he's one of us or not. " he explained.

"…well god_damn_." Derek groaned. "So all we can do right now is wait for some inmate that we don't know will work it out right?"

"Pretty much." Cameron shrugged.

"This is totally whack." Ebon growled. "Why the hell are we doin' this?"

"Cuz the whole thing could fall down around our ears, Boss." Shiv said, using Derek's words from earlier. Derek caught his words and raised an eyebrow.

"How long do you t'ink dis is gonna take?" Kangor asked, looking at Cameron and Derek.

"Not a fucking clue." Cameron replied with mock cheeriness. Derek groaned again. And _this_ was why he had wanted to bring his lock-picks…

_

* * *

_

George's Office

Jamal took out a few of the shotguns and leaned them carefully against the wall, making sure the safety on each of them was on. Shotguns were not a toy.

"What's this?" Jamal wondered aloud with a frown as he reached forward to pick up another note. He scanned it quickly.

_Unlock and open the back entrance. Don't be surprised at who's there._

Well, _that_ certainly didn't sound too invitingly safe-sounding. Jamal groaned and put a hand to his forehead, wondering again just what the hell he was doing. But what the hell, right?

Yeah, he hoped so.

The African-American pocketed the second note, grabbed a shotgun (although he didn't really know what for—maybe in case he had to make that scene he told Hotstreak he'd do if all else failed), and headed out. The blinking red light on the camera across the hall and pointing at the wall away from him was somehow comforting; it might've been the fact that even though it was on, things were still in his favor.

"Hey-ho, let's go." Jamal muttered to himself, wondering who had sung that. He wasn't sure if it had been The Ramones or The Rolling Stones, but it didn't matter too much. He hurried down the hall, only going as fast as silence would allow. In order to get to the back entrance, he'd only have to go down two or three flights of stairs; George's office was located two or three floors in the back above the back entrance. Thank God for small favors.

_Outside the back entrance_

"What's taking him so long?" Shiv whined as Jamal was heading out of George's office. Derek glared at him slightly with a small sigh.

"He has to watch out for on-duty guards, cameras, and vindictive inmates. I don't know how the hell one man is supposed to go around avoiding all the guards, but—"

"George said he's taken care of almost everything." Cameron interrupted. He sounded confident in this stranger. Derek subsided into an uneasy silence, now beginning to pace and crack his knuckles. Ferret shuddered each time there was a crack.

"Could you be a little quieter about that?!" he whined suddenly, only to shiver as Derek cracked his neck spitefully. "Or not…"

"It's a nervous habit." Derek said.

"And we're all nervous." Cameron pointed out. "Try to be a little easier on it, if you can."

"Yeah, sure." Derek muttered.

A tense silence enveloped them as the minutes dragged on on bloody stumps of once-limbs. It was strange; the air felt thick, heavy—oppressing, even, and the anxiety of the group only increased. There was a strange foreboding crawling around on them, seeming to infest their brains and make their skin crawl.

The lock on the door from the inside suddenly clicked.

It seemed too loud in the silence, but everyone's head angled towards it so quickly there was a collective sound of tendons creaking. When the door opened, the first thing they noticed was the Remington shotgun. The next thing noticed was the surprised features of the tall black man they had been told about.

"…so, uh…you're here to let us in, right?" Cameron asked hopefully. Jamal looked at all of them in a scrutinizing manner before answering.

"You here to bust out Hotstreak?"

"That's our guy." Derek said immediately as he started forward. "We're already late—we need to hurry before the guards start their rounds."

"They do it at 3:30 here." Jamal informed, stepping out of Derek's way as he spoke. The guard looked relieved.

"Oh, good. That's not so bad, then. We have about an hour. Should be done by then, right?"

"If all goes as we planned." Ebon said as he followed Derek.

"What's your name?" Cameron asked.

"Jamal." the man answered. "Look, man, Hotstreak's cell be up two floors—I passed a few cameras on mah way here and most of 'em is off. I dunno how yo' cameras work, but when ours is on, they got a little red blinkin' light. Watch out fo' it."

"Ours are the same. I think they're standard cameras." Cameron said. He waited for Jamal to begin leading them.

"So we're finally—" Shiv began loudly. Derek spun around and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"_Shhh!!"_ he hissed dangerously. The metahuman's eyes widened.

"Fine, fine." he mumbled, except it came out like _Hnn, hnn. _Derek took his hand away. "So we're finally gonna see Hotstreak?"

"If all goes as we planned, like Ebon said." Jamal said with a reverential glance at the shadowed bang baby. Shiv grinned and somehow managed to keep his happy dance inside.

_

* * *

_

Hotstreak's Cell

Hotstreak paced back and forth in front of the cot. He was unaccustomed to waiting like this, especially on such an edge. There were so many things that could've been going wrong at this exact moment—Jamal was caught, Jamal was about to be caught, Jamal had suddenly decided to up and leave without getting him out of here—

"Hotstreak!" A sharp whisper cut through his thoughts like the razor had cut through Alex Sanchez's eye. _Better not think about things like that,_ Hotstreak thought.

"Jamal?" he called back in a very, very low voice.

"Got some backup." His voice was closer now. Hotstreak strained to peer through the darkness, and his eyes widened when he saw who was with Jamal.

"You got backup, alright." he whispered. "Long time no see, guys."

"Nice to see you too!" Shiv said cheerfully.

"Who's got the keys?" Ebon asked impatiently. Jamal fished around in his jumpsuit and pulled out the key ring.

"Right here, man. Jus' gotta find out which one of 'em opens tha cell." he said. As Jamal began fitting keys into the lock, Cameron and Derek began talking.

"In case this goes wrong, we're gonna have to have a plan for me and Derek. We're risking our freedom to help you guys out, but if we fail, we're gonna have to say that our families were threatened to help you guys from an anonymous threat." Cameron began.

"We'd say that he called from a payphone and described exactly where each of our family members were in the house, and exactly what they were doing, so we knew it wasn't a jackass trying to scare us." Derek said. Hotstreak glared at them.

"They got tha right, dawg." Jamal said softly to him, momentarily looking up from the keys to look at Hotstreak. The green eyes were angry and troubled, and Jamal got the feeling that part of Hotstreak would rather stay in the cell than go wherever he needed to.

"Whatever. Find the key." Hotstreak said roughly, turning his head away. Jamal frowned slightly and did as he was told.

"A mini jailbreak, huh?" somebody from another cell said loudly. The Meta Breed and the guards whirled around. Jamal angled the shotgun. The man in the cell threw his hands up. "Easy, easy!! I'm not tellin' anybody or anything!"

"You're a little bit too loud," Hotstreak snarled.

"Sorry, guys, I didn't mean to." he mumbled. "I-I'll be quiet."

"You know _nothin'_ about this shit, you hear me?" Jamal growled. As friendly and calm as he was, Jamal could be rather intimidating. The inmate nodded hastily.

"Right, right, I don't know anything, man." he agreed.

"Good." Jamal glared, and turned around to find the right key. "Is it even _on_ here—wait, what the fuck am I doin'?!" The man growled at himself and slapped a hand to his head. "Jesus Christ, I got tha mothafuckin' keys to tha _power stoppers…_"

"What?!" Hotstreak gasped. "What the—what the hell are you trying to get the key to my cell, for?! Unlock Ebon!"

"Quiet _down_!" Derek hissed. He could feel the beginning of a migraine. "Do you wanna wake anyone else up?" Hotstreak and Derek glared at each other for a few seconds before Jamal whipped out the special key.

"Gimme your hands, Ebon." he said, but he was reaching for Ebon's wrists anyways. The shadow made no move to snatch his hands back, despite hating to be touched. The bracelets almost clattered to the floor when Jamal unlocked them, but Derek grabbed them a few inches above the ground. They stared at each other nervously before Derek straightened up.

"Um…yeah…" Derek cleared his throat. "Close call."

"_JAILBREAK!!"_

"Snake Eyes!" Jamal and Hotstreak growled at the same time.

"Son of a _bitch_, that little fucker, I'm going to rip his fucking limbs off—" Hotstreak snarled.

"JAILBREAK! Hotstreak's breaking out, there's a JAILBREAK!!" Snake Eyes kept shouting. Ebon slid into Hotstreak's cell, feeling an incredible amount of freedom, and made the swirling vortex to get him on the other side of the bars. Hotstreak threw him a grateful look.

"Let's get outta here!" Ferret said nervously as other inmates began shouting.

"What about James?!" Jamal looked at Hotstreak.

"Ahh, fuck." he groaned, and turned to Ebon. "James is on the on the other side of the building, in Jamal's cell. We gotta get him."

"We don't gotta do _nothin'_ except get the hell outta here." Ebon glared.

"He's on the other side of the prison, Ebon. They're all coming over here." Cameron pointed out.

"We got time if we use your shadow powers." Derek agreed. Ebon looked at them for a moment, and the door leading to the hall slammed open.

"God _dammit_, that stupid bang baby's gettin' away!" the familiar, annoying Southern drawl howled.

"Fuck you, Hal!" Jamal shouted. It made up Ebon's mind from the sheer annoyance that was Hal—what better way to piss him off even more than let another prisoner free?

"Let's go." Ebon said harshly as the vortex opened. Jamal looked at him doubtfully. "You wanna get your little friend or not?"

"Thanks, man." Jamal said gratefully.

_

* * *

_

Outside James' Cell

"What's going on?" was the general question of the inmates in the East side as the alarm began screaming its dear little head off. James looked around anxiously—Jamal wasn't back yet. The Puerto Rican had a very bad feeling.

He jumped two or three feet in the air when a swirling black and purple portal appeared out of thin air and the Meta Breed, Jamal, and two other men hopped out.

"This him?" Ebon asked.

"James, lets go! We're outta here!" Hotstreak said as he wrenched the cell door open. James stayed where he was for a moment in shock before leaping to his feet.

"Get another portal—hurry up! They're calling Static and Gear!" Ferret warned. He knew what the alarm meant. Ebon stilled.

"Sparky and Poindexter, huh?" he said.

"We ain't got time for this shit." Jamal said sharply. Ebon whirled around to face him, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You don't know shit about us, dawg! Keep yo' mouth shut! We got time if I _say_ we got time!" he growled.

"Make the fucking portal!!" Hotstreak roared as guards came barreling down the hallway. "We'll get 'em _outside_!"

Ebon didn't reply; a living shadow though he was, he wasn't Superman—he wasn't able to dodge bullets or have them bounce off his body, and the guards had begun shooting. The shotgun roared and a flash erupted before their eyes as Jamal set off the shotgun, buckshot pock-marking the walls and lodging itself in flesh. Ebon took this as his cue to make the requested shadow vortex. The group ran through.

_

* * *

_

Hawkins' Residence

"Virg, I think you should hear this." Richie sounded urgent and alarmed, prompting Virgil to get off his spot at the couch watching Comedy Central. Backpack had beeped a mere fifteen seconds ago.

"What's up, bro?" Virgil frowned.

"Jailbreak. The Meta Breed got out and their cuffs are off. Two of the other inmates at Hotstreak's prison are with them, and one of them fired a shotgun. Two people are dead." Richie said seriously.

"Jesus Christ!" Virgil said vehemently. His distaste of guns only increased—two people dead already? "Let's go. Now."

"Right." Richie nodded.

- -

They suited up hurriedly and blasted off. Backpack automatically gave Gear directions to the crime location, but the siren and packs of police cars may have worked even better than Backpack. They saw fireballs, destructive shadows, the glint of weapons, small earthquakes caused by Kangor's brutal stomps, and the flash as bullets were shot from the barrels of guns.

In other words, complete pandemonium.

Static chucked down a vicious orb of devastating voltage. The projectile smashed into Kangor, knocking him into the air. He crashed back down with a resounding, boneless thud. It wouldn't have been surprising if a couple of ribs were broken, along with a concussion.

"Kangor!" Ferret yelped, immediately rushing over to him. Hotstreak turned halfway with a violent snarl over his shoulder to the two superheroes; Jamal grabbed his forearm.

"We gotta get tha _hell_ outta here." he said urgently. Hotstreak, torn between staying in the fight, never backing down, and knowing what he had to do, had to settle for just glaring at Jamal. Those light brown eyes were like probes, reading behind the façade of the pissed-off metahuman; Jamal knew he was confused, possibly scared.

"Hotstreak!" James yelled in warning. The redhead looked up just in time to step back and avoid a zapcap. He heard Gear curse from his spot in the sky.

It decided him.

"Fine." he said in a low voice to Jamal. The man nodded and looked around quickly.

"We should be able to sneak off or sumthin'—errbody busy." Jamal said sarcastically. James looked around quickly as Hotstreak began throwing more fireballs to defend himself.

"There's an openin' over there, in the trees. It goes to the park. Think we could hide there?" he asked.

"Not for long. They'll notice I'm missing when they realize there's no more fire." Hotstreak frowned. "But I think we might have some time." He looked at Jamal for reassurance, and found it as the black man nodded.

"Ready…?"

* * *

Yes, it's a cliffhanger. How exciting. –gags- I hate them myself, but yeah…after playing Silent Hill 4, I'm trying to decide how I want them to get in Silent Hill. Either drive into it, or…like the South Ashfield Apartment, what with the randomly-appearing hole in the wall. You guys decide. –shifts eyes-

SWEAR TO GOD IT WON'T TAKE ME A YEAR TO UPDATE AGAIN. SWEAR TO GOD.


	5. Oh I Can't Wait To Get On The Road Again

I SO TOLD YOU IT WOULDN'T TAKE ME ANOTHER YEAR TO UPDATE. -shifty eyes- At least I updated, right? I think I may have defeated my writer's block for now, and I'm going to start writing chapter six soon. Gogo me! :D

I hope you enjoy this, guys, cuz I actually kinda like it. I like how I wrote everyone, I felt like I kept them in character...except for Hotstreak in a couple places, but ya know, this is a completely different situation for him...

**As always, I cry myself to sleep at night because I don't own Static Shock, and thus don't own Hotstreak.**

_

* * *

Jailbreak Fight_

"Watch out, Static!" Gear shouted in alarm as a fireball came distressingly close to the electric superhero's face, making him spin several times in succession in the air to avoid it. Static managed to regain his balance just before a revived Kangor aimed a ferocious kick at him. He barely dodged it and almost fell off his disc again.

"Damn!" he gasped in surprise, balance wavering slightly. He had no idea the escapees would be this vicious in their attempt at freedom. Kangor landed with a thud on the ground, feet sinking into the hard earth a few inches from the powerful landing. The Jamaican snarled up at him.

"Kangor's got 'em distracted. Let's go." Jamal said hurriedly as he grabbed Hotstreak's forearm and began making his way through the pandemonium, James following suit. Cameron and Derrek had managed to slip their way in with the police, faking their aim to get the escapees. Derrek spotted Hotstreak and the two humans right at the edge of the battleground from his peripherals and grabbed Cameron's gun arm.

"_Look!" _he hissed in the guard's ear. Cameron angled his gaze to where Derrek had directed his attention.

"What the _fuck_—" Cameron began in surprise. He was interrupted by a throwing star that came dangerously close to his face. He and Derrek leapt away with the honed agility and grace uncanny for men of their size. Shiv gave them a single nod and that was all they needed to understand—the bang baby didn't actually want to hurt them, but he hadn't seen Hotstreak running off and abandoning them.

"Okay, so what're we gonna do, let them go?" Derrek turned his attention back to Cameron in an unsure confusion.

"Shit, why not? I don't know what was up with George, but he really wanted Hotstreak outta there. He told me…fuck, now's not the time." Cameron glanced around the chaos in a slightly nervous fashion. Everyone was too busy fighting or shouting orders to each other to notice the two guards' conversation. "I'll tell you later, but just remember—Hotstreak needs to get the fuck outta here."

Derrek surveyed his ally in wary trust before gaining assurance from Cameron's steady gaze. "Alright, Cameron." He nodded slightly and aimed a shitty shot at Kangor, distracting him from fighting Gear. The superhero took this as a chance to chuck a well-aimed zapcap filled with a sticky substance that kept Kangor rooted to the ground.

"Aaarhh! What deh hell, mon!" Kangor roared as he attempted to rip his feet from the substance. It only stretched to accommodate the change instead of tearing. Ferret ran over in great trepidation to begin clawing his friend's way to freedom. It was quite a brave move on his part…for being Ferret, in any case, but Kangor appreciated it nonetheless. Gear was too preoccupied with avoiding Ebon's shadowed power to stop Ferret.

At the edge of the trees of the park, Hotstreak looked back over his shoulder. No one had noticed him, but it seemed the freshly-escaped Metabreed wasn't doing too hot without him. He wasn't particularly loyal to them—obviously, who would be? Not him, that's for damn sure—so it didn't faze him in the least.

He had far more important things to deal with.

"C'mon dawg, 'fore they see us!" Jamal said warningly. Hotstreak turned away from the fight and ran after his two allies. He knew it wouldn't be any longer than five more minutes at the most before someone began questioning his whereabouts.

Actually, it was only about another thirty seconds before Ebon looked around in astonishment as the sudden realization of the lack of fire hit him. There was no incapacitated redhead lying on the ground or anywhere else, for that matter, and fury locked the shadow man in an iron grip.

"_Where's Hotstreak?!" _he snarled. This caught almost everyone's attention—the Metabreed, the superheroes, and a few cops.

"What do you mean, where's Hotstreak?!" Shiv yelled as he began looking around wildly. The fire-wielder couldn't just _leave_ them, he'd be leaving the _fight_, and everyone under the sun knew that Hotstreak didn't back down from a tussle. Well, before it was over, anyways.

"Gear! I'll stay here and keep these guys under control, you go find Hotstreak! We can't let him get away!" Static ordered. He was thrown off by the metahuman's departure—what the hell was with him?

Gear nodded affirmative and rocketed away, Backpack scanning for life forms with abnormally high temperatures. It was relatively easy to locate Hotstreak; the teen was running towards the parking area in the park, but with two accomplices. This slightly surprised Gear—he hadn't been expecting Hotstreak to actually have buddies.

It was only a matter of minutes before the blonde superhero caught up with the three convicts—well, so he thought at first. The only one he saw was Hotstreak, and he was currently threatening a teenage couple to get out of a white Pontiac. There was no doubt in his mind Static was faring more than well against the Metabreed with the cops. He reached for the zapcap that held water, specifically made for Hotstreak, and aimed.

"Hey, Hothead!" Gear shouted cheerfully before firing the cap. Hotstreak turned, dove, rolled, avoided. The splash of water completely missed him. _Well, shit, if it isn't Gadget come to the fuckin' rescue, _Hotstreak thought in annoyance. He had a bad feeling this wasn't going to end up too well for him, because…well, just because. Why would it?

"Missed, Poindexter! You ain't much use without your Spark Plug, are you?" Hotstreak said viciously.

"I'm plenty good without Static! I've had a tougher time blowing out birthday candles!" Gear shot back immediately. Sarcasm was, indeed, one of his strong points. The fire-wielder glared at him as flames twisted around his body.

"You're going to eat your words, Gear." he threatened. Gear had a feeling that there was a rather high possibility he _was_ going to eat his words, as well as a fireball or two. He made a mental note to make sure he kept his mouth shut more often when facing ballistic metahumans without Static around to get his back.

"We'll see, we'll see," Gear said flippantly, feeling around for another zapcap. An extra water one or two would've been just dandy at that exact moment in time, and by George, he got it!

A triumphant (and let's admit it, a very, _very_ relieved) smile crossed his face. He wrapped his fingers around it tightly and brought it out. Hotstreak eyed it warily. "Run, Hotshot, run!" Gear yelled gleefully as he set the rocket thrusters to maximum and aimed himself at Hotstreak. He saw the green eyes widen just before Hotstreak did as Gear said and ran, although in a slightly zigzagged pattern so he'd be a harder target to hit. Gear stuck his tongue between his teeth and licked the left corner of his upper lip in concentration, trying to see a pattern in Hotstreak's movement. It was soon obvious (like five seconds) the metahuman was doing it at random and Gear would just have to do his best—and avoid that fireball that was currently right on track to his face.

Seeing as how breaking his face and having it burn wasn't quite appealing, Gear flew lower immediately to avoid the flaming projectile and saw his chance; Hotstreak had stumbled in his footing because of a pesky root. It was all the chance he needed, and the next thing Hotstreak knew, he was soaking wet and his fire was gone.

_Dear God. Why do you hate me so much? Love, Francis. Shit, I hate everything. _Needless to say, Hotstreak wasn't exactly happy with the current situation. Jamal and James were busy siphoning gas from other cars, leaving Hotstreak to hotwire one—even though he instead chose the lazy way and stole one in "use"—and now he was wet and alone and, dare he say it, helpless.

No, he didn't dare say it.

He had to grin as the rock hit Gear straight in the faceplate.

"_Dammit!!" _Gear yelped as his nose was crushed. There was a vicious sort of triumph at his small victory, pathetic as it was, but hell. It was satisfying, dammit, and that's all Hotstreak cared about at that exact moment.

_So _there_, you arrogant shit,_ Hotstreak thought, complete unaware of the hypocrisy. All thought left his mind, however, as a static-charged person (guess who, guess who) tackled him to the ground to complete the moment of supreme irony. All the air was forced out of his lungs as he landed hard on the ground with a loud thud and skidded. He would've sworn if his lungs were working properly.

"You've got a great future in football, Static." he heard Gear saying, sounding amused and impressed.

"So you've said." Hotstreak could hear the smirk in Static's voice and felt his anger rise uncontrollably again. He shifted violently, almost throwing Static off, but the shithead had wrapped his arms around his own arms and was thus securely attached.

"Get—the _fuck_—off me!" Hotstreak grunted. He felt something go around his wrists and heard a click before Static replied.

_Fuck you and your power-stoppers._

"Sure thing, Hotstreak." the superhero smirked. _Dear God. _Why_ do you abominably abhor me to the point of some of the deepest humiliation possible? Love, Francis._

Who said he wasn't religious?

"Static, did you get the others?" Gear asked worriedly. Static cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Um…not yet?"

"I can handle one metahuman on my own, Static, especially if I got my zap—" Gear froze mid-sentence as the barrel of a shotgun was pressed lightly against the back of his head. Static stood stock-still, completely shocked by the sudden appearance of a six-foot-one or so black man with a determined look on his face. Neither had any clue how anyone could have the grace and skill as to be undetected while sneaking up for a surprise attack with a large gun in their hands.

"Hotstreak. Get in the car." Jamal said in a monotone. Hotstreak's stunned expression was identical to Static's, and Gear gathered that Jamal's actions were completely uncharacteristic. The redhead, however, didn't need to be told twice. "James' loadin' up gas in tha trunk right now."

"Right." Hotstreak said quickly. "I need the keys for the power stop—"

Gear ducked down and elbowed Jamal in the ribs in the space of half a second. The man grunted heavily in surprise as he stumbled backwards, taking care to aim the shotgun upwards towards the atmosphere where nothing would be hurt if the gun accidentally went off. Hotstreak kicked Static in the stomach in the moment of confusion and high-tailed it towards the white Pontiac where James was slamming the trunk.

"Let's go, guys!" the Puerto Rican barked. Jamal lashed out at the small of Richie's back with a true fighter's fist and knocked him over, giving himself the chance to get up and run like hell after Hotstreak. When he got up to where the car was, he heard Hotstreak yelling at James to get the fuck out the driver's seat because he was a far better driver. Lady Luck seemed to be gracing them with her dear presence at last; they heard a wild whoop as a psychotic bang baby with a purple mohawk came tearing around playground objects towards them, sword-hands glowing brightly with the maniacal grin on his face. Gear shot Static a look of profound you-are-a-fucking-moron qualities.

"Way to go, Static, way to go." he muttered, watching Shiv dash towards him as the others of the Metabreed came into sight. The electrical hero glared.

"A couple guards said they had it covered!" he defended weakly. Gear could only roll his eyes.

"Well, you take care of them, I'll stop the car." he said patiently, sounding as if he were talking to a mentally retarded four-year-old. Static glared again, huffed, and did as he was told as Gear flew towards the car. He didn't see Shiv tailing him. Jamal leaned out the side window, leveled the shotgun at Gear, and aimed. The genius was a bit too preoccupied with the gun to completely notice Shiv's arm—currently a buzz saw—coming down on him. Backpack, thank God, automatically reacted; mechanical arms came out almost too late to push against Shiv's wrist. Instead of sawing off Gear's arm like he intended, he got a minor slash running up and down his shoulder to forearm. He yelled in surprise, and both bang babies screamed as the shotgun went off, ducking reflexively. It missed by over five feet, despite the spread of buckshot.

"_Gear!"_ Static screamed, completely losing focus on the other metahumans and racing towards his ally.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, they're getting away!!" Gear bellowed in return. Distracted by his friend's welfare and the attack of Kangor and Ebon, Static aimlessly blasted at the car. It began to surround it, but Kangor gave him a roundhouse kick that would've made Chuck Norris proud and Static went flying along with the license plate and back bumper. Hotstreak just had to cackle as he sped away.

The jailbreak had been highly successful.

_

* * *

June 3__rd  
__Interstate Highway  
__4:18 AM_

The Pontiac was decidedly injured from the attacks, but Hotstreak managed to keep it working. His mechanical skills could've landed him high in the auto business when he graduated if his criminal record wasn't as long as he was tall. If he was in a regretful mood, he'd curse this fact, but otherwise ignored it completely. What good would lamenting do?

The license plate had been wrenched off from one of Static's blasts—there was one thing they didn't need to worry about. Jamal rested his sweaty head on the window, leaving a slimy residue that no one, at that moment, gave a damn about.

"_Shit_, man. That was fuckin…fuck." he breathed. _How intelligent, Jamal,_ Hotstreak thought sarcastically.

"Everyone got the chance to escape again, too." James added with a small smile. Hotstreak shook his head.

"That's not good, though! That's what you don't get—I split in the middle of a fight, they'll chase us along with the cops and the Dynamic Fucking Duo!" he said angrily, slamming his hands on the wheel in frustration.

"Ain't nobody need to be followin' us to Silent Hill." Jamal said slowly. He sounded apprehensive, even nervous, but it was his words that gave Hotstreak pause.

"…_us?_" he repeated incredulously. Jamal lifted his head from the window to give the bang baby a no-shit-Sherlock look.

"You don't think we lettin' yo' dumbass self go alone, do you?"

"What the fuck—! _You_ are the goddamn dumbass, Jamal! And you too!" Hotstreak jerked his hand in James's direction, ignoring his indignant protests. "You can't come with me!"

"Bullshit!" Jamal growled immediately. "We can't let you go _alone_! We undastand what we goin' into, and we undastand we can't let you go by yo' self!"

Hotstreak looked away from the darkened road to glare at the man. He started to say something along the lines of "You guys are fucking morons, you have no _idea_ what you're going into," but James spoke first.

"You got the bracelets back on, Hotstreak. You can't use your powers." he said softly. It shut Hotstreak up immediately.

Jamal glanced at him coolly. "See?"

"You guys…" Hotstreak sighed, almost helplessly.

"Nothin' changin' our mind, dawg."

_

* * *

Abandoned Detention Center  
__4:23 AM_

"Hotshot don't got his powers again—we can find that motherfucker that split and make him _pay_!" Ebon raged, accentuating his words by throwing his hand violently across the cluttered desk. The Metabreed had taken refuge in the abandoned detention center once again, though knowing they'd have to relocate soon. Ferret looked around anxiously.

"Where was he goin', fellas?" he asked timidly.

"Fucked if I know." Ebon growled. His shadowed body was leaning arrogantly against the wall, wallpaper peeling, with his arms crossed.

"Those two guys he was with should've known." Shiv said. It was rather unhelpful—the two guys were missing as well, _with Hotstreak._ Ebon's eyes narrowed as he jerked his head towards Shiv.

"That don't get us _anywhere._"

"…good point."

There was a collective eye roll at Shiv.

"I just can't believe Hotstreak would run. He don't do that." Kangor said. He was bothered by Hotstreak's already eccentric behavior, but _fleeing a fight?_ "I thought Static and Gear had him, when they doused him with the water."

"That fool with the goddamn shotgun. Think his name's Jamal." Ebon said thoughtfully. He stared moodily down at the floor, trying to figure out a plan.

"Hey! Maybe we could get an insider with Gear to get information and see if they know where they're headed!" Shiv said brightly. The entire group had to give pause at Shiv's sudden intelligence. First shutting up when required, and now a great idea? The psycho was on a goddamn roll.

"Shiv…" Ebon almost sounded as if he could kiss him. "That's…that's a great idea." Shiv positively beamed at Boss's unexpected praise, but hell, that was the equivalent of Ebon accepting one of his random hugs.

"It should be Cameron or Derrek. What do you think?" Ferret asked.

"Cameron. Definitely." Ebon said at once. There was no question about his choice, and no questioning his choice. The diabolic wheels in his mind began turning at full speed.

He knew exactly what to do.

_

* * *

Abandoned Gas Station  
__4:31 AM_

"How's your arm?" Virgil asked at the pathetic building they called their headquarters. A rat squeaked in the corner and went ignored. Richie was tending to the wound Shiv gave him when the genius was paying attention to Jamal and the shotgun.

"It's—yowch!—alright." The blonde winced at the burning sting of rubbing alcohol. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

"So I see." he said sarcastically. Richie gave him a withering look, decided to ignore the jibe, and went back to cleaning the slash in his arm. Virgil watched on without a word as the blonde carefully wiped away the excess alcohol and slathered Neosporin on top of it. He not-so-gently wrapped the sterile bandage around almost the entire arm ("Ow, V, what the hell are you trying to do, rip it open?!" Richie demanded) and sat back. Richie glared at him in good humor as the black boy snickered.

"You know," the genius said suddenly, "I really don't think Jamal was aiming to kill anyone."

Virgil glanced at his best friend doubtfully, wondering if he had been knocked on the head one too many times during battles, special helmet be damned. "What makes you think that?"

"He missed. On purpose." Richie said, referring to when Jamal had shot at him. He continued when Virgil didn't respond. "Bro, he wasn't even aiming at me. He was…being a distraction. Or a hindrance to us. Hotstreak needed to get somewhere, and he needed to get there _yesterday_."

"Well, where the hell would that be?" Virgil asked as he attempted to keep the frustration out of his voice and beginning to pace fervently.

"Dunno, V…dunno."

Both had a feeling they should find out soon.

_

* * *

Interstate Highway  
__4:43 AM_

Hotstreak's eyes kept closing unwillingly as he drove down the road. It was relatively deserted, which may or may not have been a good thing, with heavy steel guard rails to prevent cars from falling into the slight ditches at either side of the road. The redhead glanced at Jamal beside him, riding shotgun with a shotgun, and the rearview mirror, to see where James was leaning on the window. His breath had fogged the glass. Both were sleeping deeply; the previous events had worn out everyone…including Hotstreak. The silence of his two—friends? Yes, friends—was only making things worse. He thought of how the two fellow inmates had actually reached friendship status with him, a strange tangent of confusion, but his eyes continued to slip shut repeatedly. The silence only made it worse, as well as the gentle hum of the car traveling on the road.

The darkness of early morning, the sun having yet to rise, seemed more complete. It happened slowly so that Hotstreak didn't notice until vision was almost impossible without the headlights—which, by the way, weren't working. He was unsure of when this happened, but as he vaguely detected shadows shifting outside, he decided that no headlights were perfectly alright with him. Jamal and James, sleeping as they were, remained unaware of the possible—hell, probable—danger looming around them.

Hotstreak sat up straighter as he began to hear suggestions of secretive whispers, slumber leaving quickly. His eyes widened as small, brightly silvery-white spots flickered here and there without illuminating the area around them. The whispers were indiscernible, but that too was alright with him until they began getting louder and louder, escalating to near-screams and _still_ unintelligible as they got closer to him and spots became baleful eyes of elucidated malevolence, and _now_ they were lighting up and starting to reveal the shadows for what they were and the fear pressed down and the screaming the screaming the screeching and danger and suddenly the screaming was the side of the car against the guardrail and Hotstreak was now wide awake and damn near standing on the brake with James and Jamal yelling mutedly in the background.

The tires screeched against the black asphalt road as the car, badly dented to begin with and now sporting a vicious scratch on the right side, slid to a jarring halt and snapped the three against their seatbelts.

Hotstreak collapsed back against the seat, breathing heavily in gasps as his heart hammered in his cheat. He had _fallen asleep while driving_, with two other people in the car, going sixty-five miles per hour on a deserted road.

"What the _fuck!_" James yelled shakily.

"Hotstreak, what the _fuck_ was that?!" Jamal demanded almost in a scream.

"_I'm sorry!_ I fucking fell asleep, I didn't mean to, it's not like anyone was making sure I stayed awake after being up all night and not sleeping and breaking out of jail and fighting Static and Gear and the cops—!"

"Hotstreak! _Hotstreak_!" James said loudly.

"WHAT?!"

His scream almost seemed to hang in the air from the sudden silence, except for the bang baby's aggravated, heavy breathing.

"It's okay, man." Jamal said gently, after a couple seconds, to diffuse the metahuman's rising temper. Hotstreak took a deep breath to calm himself and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, guys. I feel asleep. I'm exhausted."

"It was an accident. S'okay." James said comfortingly.

"Fuck you, we almost _had_ an accident." Hotstreak shot back, though he was too tired and shaken to say it with any real hostility.

"Nah, dawg. We shoulda stopped somewhere to sleep. Ain't good to be drivin', especially now." Jamal said. Hotstreak looked at the man exhaustedly, and for the first time, Jamal realized the utter exhaustion in the troubled green eyes. His own dark ones softened sympathetically.

"C'mon, bro. Let's get somewhere safer fo' us to sleep." he said.

"We should get a new car." James pointed out. "It's too dangerous to stay in this one. They'll be watchin' for it."

"Yeah. I think there's a hotel in a few miles." Hotstreak sighed. "We'll jack somebody's car there and dump off this piece of shit."

"Sounds good, man." James said agreeably.

"I'll stay awake this time, Hotstreak. You want me to drive?" Jamal offered.

"Nah. Nah, I got it." Hotstreak shook his head and took his foot off the brake. "I can definitely stay up now…"

He didn't mention the nightmare. hi

"It's all good, man, I'll stay up too. Just in case."

"'Ey! Y'know, I can stay up too…" James piped up, slightly irritated. Jamal grinned back at him.

"We know, James." They laughed together and lapsed into an almost comfortable silence. There was a dull edge that they attempted to ignore.

- -

Ten or so minutes later, a glow of fluorescent lights indicated the cheap motel Hotstreak had spoken of with few visitors. As it was just shy of five in the morning, sunrise imminent within the next hour, there was almost complete silence. Nocturnal insects flew around the halo of lights aimlessly in the parking lot. None of the cars were ostentatious or unusual or new; they'd each blend in perfectly, not seeming out of the ordinary at all.

"Should we just park here and sleep for a while?" Hotstreak asked, looking at all the cars with no particular purpose. Jamal shook his head.

"Be daylight by the time we wake up. Best do all this at night." He leaned towards Hotstreak to check the gas gauge. "We got no money to fill up, anyway."

"I hope someone's got money in the next car we steal." James blinked.

"That'd be good. We have to be real careful to cover our tracks, though." Hotstreak said. "Now how about that blue Honda Prius with the tinted windows?"

"Car alarms, man." James reminded. Hotstreak only smirked.

"No problem."

"You that good?" Jamal asked doubtfully.

"Yup. Just watch."

Indeed, two minutes later found the teen jimmying open the Honda's blue door with a discarded piece of scrap metal, most likely the remains of a crash. It opened with a slight squeak and, best of all, no alarm.

"Great. Now can you hotwire?" Jamal asked. James stood watch silently, peering carefully at every possible hiding place. Hotstreak raised a slightly incredulous eyebrow.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" he teased. Jamal had to smirk.

"True story, dawg." They were silent as Hotstreak unlocked the other doors and climbed in. James had just shut his door when something on the back floor caught his eye.

"Yo, someone left their purse." He leaned forward to pick it up and hand a black Gucci bag to Jamal as Hotstreak fucked around with the wires carefully. The black man started digging through.

"Gucci bag. Must have a lot of money." He guessed, putting makeup and gum aside. There was a small, pink leather wallet covered in multicolored sparkles.

"Girls seem high maintenance." James commented.

"She got money?" Hotstreak asked, moving from the floor to the driver's seat. The car started obediently as the inmate grinned and moved from the parking space. Jamal flipped through the gaudy wallet (with Tinkerbell on the back) and suddenly grinned.

"Money and what could be turned into money." He held up rolls of bills in rubber bands of a couple of dimebags.

"Aw, don't tell me we're gonna be dealin." James said uncomfortably.

"Ain't gonna smoke it, bro." Jamal ignored the Puerto Rican's discomfort; his brother had been shot during a deal and never fully recovered.

"Think we won't get caught?" Hotstreak asked. He was being cautions, a completely uncharacteristic move, but going willingly to a "supposedly" haunted town was as well.

"Nah. Not if you street smart. We all are so it can't be too hard." Jamal shrugged. "Be easy. Let's do it next city we get to."

"Sounds good. How much we got now? Hotstreak questioned with another glance to the wallet. Jamal was counting.

"Hold up, bro. Two-fifty…two-fifty-five…yo, three-fifty-five…four-fifty-five…five-oh-five…five-then, five-twenty…shit, this girl seriously stocked up. Got more rolls in here." Jamal said, impressed.

"Who is she?" James asked curiously. He took the wallet and picked out the driver's license of a Hispanic woman with shoulder-length black hair.

"Shelly Sandoval. That reporter." Jamal sounded surprised.

"Wasn't there some shit about her disappearing?" Hotstreak frowned. James nodded.

"Billy told me a little bit ago that her husband went nuts and she ran away from him. His brother knows her cousin."

"Chain gossip. Awesome." Hotstreak said sarcastically.

"Maybe we shouldn't take all the money or this car…" James said slowly. The other two were silent for a moment.

"Well, what the fuck, I turn this shit around and jack another one!?" Hotstreak exploded.

"Hotstreak, she's runnin away from a psychotic motherfucker!" James said, appalled.

"C'mon, we take five or six hundred bucks, take the weed cuz it's probly his, and hotwire another one," Jamal said. He stayed calm to avoid Hotstreak's temper.

"Can we actually _risk it_?" Hotstreak pointed out acidly.

"Damn sure." Jamal replied.

"What the _fuck_—" Hotstreak growled, jerking the wheel suddenly. The tires squealed minutely against the road as they turned. Jamal and James made brief eye contact in the rearview mirror.

They car they ended up with was a dirty, dark green Honda Civic Hybrid. The inside smelled like cigarettes and beer, but remained relatively clean. It belonged to a middle aged man of no importance to them. The bang baby seemed to like the Civic Hybrid better than Sandoval's car, at least, and James found the leather to be more comfortable.

"How much ammo you got for the shotgun?" Hotstreak asked. Jamal shook his head.

"I grabbed a lot. Didn't use much at the fight." He replied. He noticed the rather odd look on Hotstreak's face and the tribulation in green eyes. Watching the convict carefully, Jamal shifted the shotgun to his right hand at the window.

"What's wrong?" he asked guardedly.

"I…dunno if a shotgun's gonna help." Hotstreak said hesitantly after a few seconds of internal struggle.

"Why tha _fuck_ not?!" Jamal exclaimed in surprise.

"I—Hotstreak, that's a goddamn _shotgun_." James said nervously.

"I don't know, alright?!" Hotstreak snapped. "I just—I'm being stupid, never mind."

"No. What tha _fuck_ is up at Silent Hill?! You act like we goan die there!" Jamal said. "I think James an' me need to know exactly what tha fuck's happenin!"

"_You and James," _Hotstreak shouted venomously as he turned to Jamal and completely ignored the road, _"need to get the fuck outta here!"_

"You _talk_ in yo' _sleep_, mothafucka! Nah, don't deny it! And yes it's goddamn important, you say _Silent Hill _and some shit about the faith—"

"SHUT UP!!"

Hotstreak screamed it, actually _screamed_ it, and it shut Jamal up immediately. There was only complete and total silence in the stopped car; Hotstreak had slammed on the brake. White knuckles were clenched around the steering wheel as bare flashes of memory whizzed by in a sickening tornado blur, colors mixing together in nauseating shades and shapes. It was only snatches of words

_(the Order is clustered around the church is safe except for the coal fires are still the alarm the alarm the alarm PYRAMID!!!!!)_

but Hotstreak closed his eyes tightly and willed everything to calm down and go away. He was aware of his two allies' wary looks, aware of their contemplation of his sanity, but they didn't understand anything. Anything.

Neither did he, for that matter, but it didn't really fucking count.

"Hotstreak…?" James asked quietly in a worried tone. The metahuman's only response was his breathing and the rise and fall of his broad shoulders, still clad in the orange jumpsuit similar to his own and Jamal's. Jamal, being the braver one, put a steady hand on Hotstreak's arm.

"Yo, man…come on. What the hell was that?" he asked gently. Hotstreak sighed and swallowed before he answered, not opening his eyes.

"I don't remember anything."

__

* * *

June 3rd  
11:30 PM  
West Virginia

The back roads of West Virginia were sparsely populated, mostly by lonely gas stations that didn't see many visitors. The trees had taken over the sides of the roads, casting black shadows with the faint moonlight, hidden by clouds. It was the night after the jailbreak. The three had broken into more than a couple houses to find clothes that would fit them instead of wandering around in the tell-tale prisoners' jumpsuit, seeing as how it's never a good idea to go around walking in an orange prison outfit. They weren't quite in the mood (ever) to get the cops called on them.

Hotstreak had found a black shirt and jeans that actually fit instead of being ridiculously baggy. James was clad in loose sweatpants and a baggy white shirt, claiming them to be more comfortable, while James just threw on normal jeans and a green Southpole shirt.

Their nice new gear aside, since it completely didn't matter to them what they wore as long as they didn't stand out. They were driving through the back roads in the Eastern part of West Virginia, closer and closer to Silent Hill. Jamal was holding a map they picked up at a gas station way back when they were still in Dakota. The road was straight, seemingly never-ending in the black night, so it lay uselessly in his lap. Hotstreak's apprehension of returning to the hometown he barely remembered showed; he wasn't driving nearly as fast as he would've been had it been a deserted back road anywhere else in the country. He was, actually, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into—he yelled at Jamal and James for not knowing and coming anyways, but it was probably one of the most hypocritical things he'd ever done.

Well, nobody ever said he was a saint.

_Am I driving them to their death? Am I driving to _my_ death? _the bang baby wondered morbidly. He was against James and Jamal accompanying him, as there was a foul feeling of foreboding that refused to leave, but the more selfish part of him found he was glad for the company—it thought that having friends beside him for this was far better than doing it alone.

Hotstreak slowed as he came to a fork in the road; continue straight, or turn to the left. He looked over at Jamal, realized he was half asleep, and nudged him.

"Jamal, which way do I go?" he asked. Jamal blinked the sleep out of his eyes and stared hard at the map, concentrating to find where they had been.

"Turn left. Keep goin' up and that lead us to…Silent Hill."

It didn't escape Hotstreak's attention how their voices were unusually soft. Even so, James sat up straighter in the back at Jamal's words.

"So, we're…almost there?" he asked. Hotstreak only nodded, staring through the darkness that would eventually reveal the ghost town that haunted his mind ever since Alex Sanchez.

The silence was not the usual comfortable friendliness. There was an inexplicable feeling of dread, that they might not be coming out of it alive. Hotstreak's knuckles were once again white from gripping the steering wheel in his powerful hands too tightly.

Ahead, there was a hill. At the top of that stood a plain white sign with simple black letters:

_Welcome To Silent Hill._

Hotstreak was only just passing the sign when it happened. As the car was skidding across the road, a ferocious grating scream in his ears from the metal grinding against unforgiving asphalt, his mind was screaming that something must've been wrong with the car, possibly the road. It couldn't have just happened for no reason.

The vehicle hit a tree, and then, for a while, all was black.

* * *

Hokai. This chapter was fourteen pages long, and I wrote a lot of it in school--I don't do a lot during certain classes at times, so I tend to write. I was writing random shit and decided that it'd be a good way to continue SFSR. I seem to get ideas then and don't get much writer's block when there's nothing else to do at school...how awesome!

Well, I do hope this chapter was enjoyable. I left the ending kinda quick and vague because it seems kinda...I dunno how to explain it. I feel as if it represents how things spun out of control so quickly by being sudden, short, and quick with it. Have I succeeded?

Probably not, but that's okay. I can fix it later.

The reviews are always welcome.

**Heart,**

oChaoticDarlingo


End file.
